


Scarborough Fair

by Polyhexian



Series: Scarborough Fair Continuity [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Ending Timeline, Canon Divergence, Enemies to friends and acquaintances to enemies, Multi, POV - Third Person, Pining, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Ideation, post-war Cybertron, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 37,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24797821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyhexian/pseuds/Polyhexian
Summary: The Lost Light gets decommissioned and Whirl is left in the same situation he found himself before the quest began: homeless, jobless, friendless, with no support structure and no desire to acclimate to a post-war Cybertron that doesn't particularly want him there in the first place. Its not much of a surprise when he reacts the same way he did the first time.Brainstorm has had suicidal friends before and he's kind of miffed that he's the only one who seems to notice the obvious, but apparently no one else is planning on stepping up to the plate, so the job of doing something about it falls to him yet again.
Relationships: Brainstorm & Whirl (Transformers), Brainstorm/Chromedome/Rewind (Transformers), Chromedome/Rewind (Transformers), Cyclonus/Tailgate (Transformers), Cyclonus/Tailgate/Whirl (Transformers), Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet, One-sided Quark/Brainstorm (Transformers)
Series: Scarborough Fair Continuity [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2032567
Comments: 219
Kudos: 211





	1. Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [You know he dies at the end, right?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25084603) by [Polyhexian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyhexian/pseuds/Polyhexian). 



> [dabs] welcome to the slowburn fix-it fic. The ending to LL is like. Its fine mostly but like. Cyclonus and tg left whirl in a bad place, and I really legitimately don't believe whirl WOULDNT have killed himself, just like he tried to do when we first met him in issue one of mtmte. Also isn't it wild the only person who seems to have kept up with while while he was in and out of prison was brainstorm? Let's get into that, perhaps.
> 
> Anyway, my Tumblr is Whirlibirb!! Come talk to me about robots

"Where are you going?"

Chromedome lingered by the doorframe, one hand on his abdomen where the medical patch hadn't been changed when it should have been. Brainstorm narrowed his optics at it. Chromedome had been meticulous about changing it since he'd come home, and equally as meticulous about telling Brainstorm to get out of his apartment. 

"Out," Chromedome said, voice hoarse with static as if he'd been recharging, but he hadn't been. Chromedome hadn't slept in days, not really. He'd been lying awake, passing out for brief periods that left him kicking awake screaming, wracked by nightmares both of being someone else and being himself. Every time he'd yell at Brainstorm to get out of his apartment while clinging to him like a life raft, paradoxical, cynical bastard that he was. 

"Oh, cool, I wanted to pick up some groceries anyway, I'll go out with you, then," Brainstorm said, casually, without moving from where he was standing. 

"I'm going out alone," Chromedome snapped, "Don't worry about it." 

"Right," said Brainstorm, nodding, "to the Relinquishment Clinic on Tenth or the one on Twenty-Second?' 

"I'm not-"

"Save it," Brainstorm grabbed the patch kit sitting open on the living room table, untouched, "If you wanna kill yourself that badly you're going to have to shake me first, and you know how hard that is. Come back over here and let me change your bandage before it gets infected and then you're miserable _and_ still alive."

Chromedome turned back inside, eyeing him through his visor, as bitter and miserable as he had been since he'd gotten shot, since he'd left the New Institute. Brainstorm didn't wait for him, scattering supplies on the table as he dumped the kit out. 

"Fine," Chromedome relented, and let Brainstorm help him.

* * *

The party was wrapping up. 

It had been a good one, not the best, by far, but pretty good. It was just difficult to really get in the swing of things with The End looming over your shoulder the entire time, never letting you forget that this was a _goodbye_ party. Nonetheless, Brainstorm had enjoyed himself, had enjoyed having the opportunity to say goodbye without it being a tragic affair. So many goodbyes in his life had been punctuated by death, it was nice to have a few be over a pint instead. 

Not that it was even goodbye to everyone, Chromedome at least had agreed with him they should move to the same city, be neighbors. It didn't much matter where they went, but at least they should keep an optic on each other. They'd been doing it long enough now, as it were, no point in stopping now. He was going to miss some more than others, though- Nautica, but at least she was staying on the planet, Swerve, even, in his own way, Perceptor the most, but at least they would be running in the same professional circles, so they were bound to run into eachother every once in awhile. 

Brainstorm waved at Drift and Ratchet before they transformed and drove away, feeling only slightly jealous. He let himself feel at least a little more jealous watching Cyclonus flip Tailgate up into his cockpit, since their whole love life had played out so publically and dramatically he felt personally entitled to get invested in it. Most people go their whole lives and never meet their Conjunx Endura. Brainstorm hadn't. His fair share of unrequited, stupid romances were enough, and not enough all at once. He had learned his lesson about locking down those feelings and never ever dealing with them. 

Hang on, were they leaving alone? 

Brainstorm turned around, just in time to notice Whirl do a little hop and transform, before flying away in the opposite direction. Brainstorm blinked in confusion, then looked back at Cyclonus's fading jetstream in the twilight sky. It didn't curve or change course. He looked back at Whirl as he began to gain altitude, and leave this place and the memories and people in it behind him. He hadn't said goodbye. Not to anyone, as far as Brainstorm had seen.

Brainstorm grimaced beneath his mouthplate. He didn't _like_ Whirl. Sure, there had been a time he totally _did_ like Whirl. The mech was willing to do anything to get his hands on a weird gun, he never snitched, and he always complimented Brainstorm's colour choices. He could be fun to hang out with in his own way, and Brainstorm found he got in trouble far less around Whirl, because whenever they had to scatter, people always chased Whirl first. After the time travelling incident, though… they hadn't really spoken since then, anyway. Whirl hadn't even come to his trial. No one would begrudge him if he left now and pretended he _didn't_ have a cloying feeling something was wrong in his gut. He didn't _like_ Whirl. They weren't even _friends._

And yet, there he went, flying off alone, and absolutely no one else was following him. If Brainstorm didn't go after him, no one else was going to, either. He spent another minute or two debating before he finally transformed and followed Whirl's ion trail. 

Easy to follow. Whirl was not a particularly fast flier- well, he was fast enough for a helicopter, but Brainstorm had a _jet_ engine which basically rendered Whirl a flying cybersnail by comparison, and even if Brainstorm _was_ a little jealous of that tasty VTOL system, Whirl couldn't out manipulate him in acrobatics even if he realized he was being followed in the first place. Brainstorm was careful to keep his distance, fly low enough not to get picked up by his quarry's vertical radar, his cyan colour scheme a garrish annoyance. He spent the rest of the flight thinking of ideas for colour changing paint for better camouflage. 

Brainstorm was not particularly surprised when Whirl started his descent on the outskirts of Polyhex and landed on the shore of the rust sea, material brittle beneath his pedes, moonlight shimmering off the rippling waves of corroded metallica as it bowed and vacillated, somberly beautiful even in it's deadly potential.

"If you wanted a date, you could have just asked," Whirl said when Brainstorm transformed and landed, looking none too pleased to see him.

"Yeah, you're not really my type," Brainstorm snorted derisively, folding his arms, "Nice spot, though."

"Oh, yeah," shrugged Whirl, looking out over the surface of the rust, "When I was a wee thing I used to come out here and watch the waves, before I moved to Rodion. People come here during the day, you know! Or they did, at least. Nice picnic spot."

"They don't come at night," Brainstorm said, shortly.

"Nah," said Whirl, without looking back at him, "They don't. You should go."

"I don't think I should." 

"I didn't ask for your help."

"I'm not doing you a favour."

Whirl cast his optic back at him, narrowed in irritation, "You didn't _see_ anything. You can just go. Ain't nobody gonna hold it to you." 

"Whirl," Brainstorm groaned, "I'm not letting you kill yourself."

Whirl flinched as if struck and turned away again. "You don't know shit." 

"I've been friends with Chromedome for three million years," Brainstorm deadpanned, voice dry and unamused, "You can't just say some edgy shit and expect me to go brood in front of a window like Cyclonus. If you make me go in after you, I will, and all you'll succeed in doing is making us both miserable."

"You're kind of an ass, you know that?"

"I've been told."

Whirl groaned in annoyance, then flopped back on his aft with a huff, crossing his skinny legs. Brainstorm trotted up and sat down beside him, leaning his chin in his hand and his elbow on his knee.

"So what's up?" Brainstorm fielded. 

"Come off it," Whirl sighed, looking like the fight had at least temporarily gone out of him, "What else am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to _go_?" 

"Surely the lovebirds are going somewhere interesting," Brainstorm handwaved, "Why not go with them?"

"They're going on their _honeymoon_ ," Whirl moaned, "They didn't _invite_ me."

"Huh," Brainstorm mused, "Ain't that shitty."

"It ain't shitty," Whirl rolled his optic in its housing, "Why would they want a third wheel for that?"

"They're your friends, aren't they?"

"I mean, yeah, I think so."

Brainstorm gestured to the rust sea, "Hate to break it to you but you aren't exactly subtle about your intentions." 

Whirl sniffed dismissively, shrugged and picked up a rock, throwing it into the rust, "I figured I was doin' pretty good, actually. Ain't no one else follow me out here."

"Well, I did," Brainstorm watched the rock skip three times and disappear and picked up one of his own, aiming to try to beat his number, "And I'm not leaving now." 

"I don't get why. We aren't even friends."

"Nobody else is here," Brainstorm said, because that should have been the obvious answer, but he'd had this conversation before. He threw the rock and got five skips before it vanished into the rust, "My job by default."

"I'm just going to wait until you leave. There's no point in going through the motions. You can't change my mind." 

"I guess I just can't leave you alone, then." 

"That's stupid," Whirl snapped, "Stop pretending you give a shit. You don't. You don't even _like_ me. You barely _know_ me. I don't want your pity and I don't want your help."

"So me and Chromedome were planning on moving back to good ol' Iacon," Brainstorm continued, ignoring him, "I mean, not together, obviously, like, he's living with Rewind, I was going to get a flat in a nice tall apartment, preferably with a helipad, since-"

"Why are you telling me this?" Whirl asked, suspiciously. 

"Be patient, I'm still talking. Right, with a helipad, since I figure it will give me a good excuse to get out more and I need the exercise. Point in being, you need a roommate."

Whirl stared at him, and then started laughing. Brainstorm didn't join him. Whirl stopped laughing. "Oh, god, you're serious, aren't you?"

"I was thinking a two bedroom, one for me and one for my lab, but surely they make three bedrooms, right? That must be a thing. I mean, I guess you could sleep in my lab, if you wanted, though I wouldn't suggest i-"

"Stop," said Whirl, sounding more serious, "Stop it. Don't do this. This isn't your job."

"Ding ding, I'm hired," Brainstorm waved a finger like a tiny flag, deadpan. 

"I don't get you," Whirl shook his head, "I don't know what you want from me."

"I want you not to want to kill yourself, idiot." 

"I can't give you that," Whirl hissed, "I'm not going to do you any favours. I don't owe you just because you came and yelled at me."

"Good, at least you have enough self-esteem to realize _that_ ," Brainstorm pulled a datapad out of his subspace and opened the apartment browsing app he'd been looking at during the trip, "So what do you think? East end, by the spacebridge port? That's what I was thinking."

Whirl stared at him, for a long, excruciating moment where Brainstorm was certain he would launch back into another miserable argument and fight him tooth and nail, but instead he just hung his head, defeated, and stared at the ground. "Whatever. I don't care."

"East end it is!" Brainstorm nodded, "How do you feel about lofts? I've never much liked them, but they're so much cheaper."

"Lofts are fine," Whirl sighed.

"Something with _natural light_ would be nice," said Brianstorm, scooting closer and showing Whirl the datapad, "What do you think? See, there's a lot of listings since so many people died." 

Whirl glanced at the screen. "I dunno. They all look fine, I guess." He reached over, hesitated, and then tapped a claw on the screen and scrolled downward.

"Come on, then. We'll pick one together, eh?" 

"...Fine," Whirl relented, and let Brainstorm help him.


	2. Remember Me to One Who Lives There

Whirl spent more time looking at his pedes than at the apartments. He thought the first one was fine, and the second, and the third. They were all fine. It didn't really matter where he lived. Odds were decent that he wouldn't live there very long, anyway. Brainstorm shouldn't even be asking him what he wanted. He shouldn't even be here. 

"Whirl," Brainstorm said, nudging him and shaking him from his thoughts, "Badge." 

"What? Right," Whirl leaned forward and let his badge be scanned by the landlord, who hummed and hawed over his computer as he pulled up his file. 

"Alright, here you go," he said, handing Brainstorm a key, "Don't forget to bring it back when you're done."

"No problem," Brainstorm waved, grabbing Whirl by the arm again and leading him back out of the rental office, toward the elevator. Whirl followed along in silence, counting the tiles on the floor as they went.

"This one is a bit more than the last one, and it's only two bedrooms, but the view is to _die_ for," Brainstorm chattered, "Not that I'll be looking outside too much, no, no, lab windows must remain covered, I've got to control the elements of lighting and background radiation, obviously, but, I say- and I always say this- what if I have people over? I have to be able to show off, and a nice view is a great way to show off. Right?" 

"Right," Whirl answered, distantly. The elevator opened and let them step inside. Brainstorm continued gushing about apartments and rent fees and soundproofing, and Whirl counted floor tiles. 

This was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. He didn't even know why he was still here at all. It's not like he couldn't just deck him and leave. Brainstorm wasn't _actually_ stopping him from leaving, not physically. 

The elevator chimed and they stepped out into the hallway. Whirl thought that it was cramped and a bit poorly lit. 

Perhaps the next time Brainstorm went to recharge, Whirl could slip away quietly. A few years ago the idea of going out in a blaze of glory was the most exciting thing in the world. He'd even wanted to make his own blaze, even if he would have honestly preferred something more dramatic, like a fight to the death with god or maybe Killmaster. These days that seemed like so much work, and terrifically pointless. He didn't believe in the Afterspark and he didn't believe in the Guiding Hand, either. He'd seen what a believer thought Cyberutopia looked like, and it had honestly kind of sucked. When Whirl died, he was confident there would be nothing- not even darkness. There was no point in worrying about how he went out or whether or not he was remembered or mourned. Dead was dead, everything afterward was irrelevant to him. He didn't want to make a big deal of it anymore, he just wanted to be alone.

Brainstorm unlocked the apartment door and ushered Whirl in first, waving him impatiently forward. It was a nice place, actually, with a little foyer and then a nice open living room with a kitchen and a very pretty new brushed titanium energon dispenser. Whirl wandered in from the door, scanning the living area, only partially interested. The floor dipped down in the center into a little pit with a round couch, and he could see where it was designed to house a vidscreen. The bar by the wall was particularly tempting, but it wasn't until he looked out the windows at the view Brainstorm had mentioned that Whirl froze and felt like he was actually _looking_ at something and really seeing it for the first time all day.

Just outside, framed elegantly by the floor to ceiling glass sliding doors that led out to the helipad was an ornate clock tower, with an analog face and a sloped roof. 

Whirl jumped when Brainstorm slapped a hand on his back, snapping him out of his reverie. 

"Nice, huh! Toldja you'd like the view," Brainstorm winked, "Saw it in the pictures and thought you'd go ham for it. Come on, let's go see the bedrooms, eh?" 

"I like this one," Whirl said, without really thinking. Brainstorm paused.

"Oh yeah? More than the others?"

"More than the others," Whirl said, still looking at the clock tower.

"...Alright, top of the list, then. Let's go make sure the bedrooms aren't dealbreakers, hm?" Brainstorm gave his arm a tug and Whirl let him lead him away, still thinking about how artisanal the clock face was, how strange it looked in the barren Functionist landscape, and he wondered how and why it was there at all.

The bedrooms were nice, certainly not dealbreakers, and by the end of the day, Whirl had put his name next to Brainstorm's on the lease. He hadn't signed a lease in four million years, and now he was signing one with _Brainstorm_ of all people.

Whirl crashed about an hour later when the high of signing a lease wore off, and he rolled over on the new couch, face down, and went back to contemplating all the different ways he'd always wanted to kill himself. He'd had enough time to think about it by now that he'd come up with a couple of really interesting options. He'd spent a lot of time by the rust sea when he was younger, since it was right outside of Polyhex, and he'd been fantasizing about walking into it and never resurfacing for as long as he could remember. Now he wasn't sure he could go back there without being overwhelmed with embarrassment remembering how easily he'd been talked down. He hated being talked down. 

"You know, you _could_ be unpacking," Brainstorm suggested, walking by with a box of beakers in his arms. 

"I only have one box," Whirl answered, without rolling over, "It has guns and clocks and that's it."

"That's depressing," Brainstorm said curtly, taking the box into his room/lab, "Let's go on a wild shopping spree tomorrow."

"I don't have any money," Whirl reminded him, "I don't even know how I'm going to pay my half of the _rent_."

"Just do what I do," Brainstorm said, crossing the room to pick up another box, "Call up Drift and tell him you just remembered he owes you money from a bet he made while he was drunk. He doesn't even question it, he just says he's sorry and wires you whatever you want."

"That's honestly hilarious, but I'm not doing that."

"Ah, well. I'm working on a new line of _colour-changing paint_ which I'm sure will make _bank_ , though. So no worries."

"Right."

"Maybe you could put your clocks up," Brainstorm continued nagging him, and Whirl groaned, pulled yet again from his planning.

"I'm not putting them up. They suck. None of them work right."

"That's what we'll get tomorrow, then!" Brainstorm exclaimed, as if he'd had an epiphany, "More clock stuff! You can make some clocks. Some better clocks."

"Fine, whatever," Whirl mumbled. 

"There we go," said Brainstorm, clapping his hands together after he moved the last box to his room/lab, "Now just to get it perfect. Probably for tomorrow, too, though, it's getting a bit late."

"Is it?" Whirl asked, finally looking up, and noticing the sky was, in fact, dark. 

"Yeah, yeah," said Brainstorm, "You sure you don't want to put up _any_ of your clocks? Who cares if they don't work. You set up a broken one and let it annoy you every time you walk in the room so you remember to get around to fixing it or replacing it with a better one. That's what I do." 

"That's-" Whirl began, and stopped when the doorbell rang. "Who's that, the landlord? We ain't done nothing yet."

"Oh, no, I invited Chromedome and Rewind over!" Brainstorm explained, skittering around the sunken center of the floor to fling open the front door, "Welcome to the Whirlstorm abode!"

" _Whirlstorm_?" Whirl spat.

" _Whirlstorm_?" repeated Chromedome wryly, but he gave Brainstorm a hug and stepped inside. Whirl was not usually considered especially perceptive, but he was _sure_ it looked like Brainstorm had squeezed just a _little_ more tightly than Whirl would have expected. He'd known Chromedome and Brainstorm were friends, close friends, even, but he'd never watched their interactions with any degree of interest before and wondered if that was normal. 

"View is to die for, huh?" Brainstorm puffed, setting his hands on his hips. Behind the clocktower and the city skyline, a blanket of stars were glittering distantly, the last vestiges of blue-purple sunset beginning to fade away. 

"It's beautiful!" Rewind agreed, "Way better than ours." 

"Our apartment is bigger though, so I think it's a fair trade," Chromedome added, "You'll have to come by and see it."

"Obviously!" Brainstorm nodded, "Tomorrow Whirl and I are going shopping for essentials. Furniture, clock stuff, more beakers, you know the drill."

"You and your beakers," Chromedome mumbled.

"We can make a thing of it!" Brainstorm continued, "We can all go, yeah?"

"Oh, I dunno, Stormy," Chromedome sighed, "I honestly was really hoping to do nothing at all tomorrow. It's kind of been a long week, hasn't it?"

Whirl hadn't been certain he was legitimately seeing something notrworthy the way they'd hugged at the door, but he was _convinced_ that Brainstorm had just drooped ever so slightly, and Whirl twitched his antennae in thought, before he spoke.

"Are you sure? I ain't bought furniture and shit since before the war. Could use someone who knows, like… I dunno. Colours, or something."

Chromedome gave him the wildest look of befuddlement, "Do you think I'm good at interior decorating?" 

Whirl squinted at him. "Are you? I thought that's just something married people cared about."

Chromedome looked almost offended, but Rewind burst into laughter, "Oh, come on, Domey, he's not wrong, you _obsess_ over curtains."

"They're important!" Chromedome cried, indignantly, "People see them from inside _and_ outside!" 

"Yeah, let's go shopping tomorrow," Rewind beamed, "It'll be nice. Domestic! When was the last time any of us got to be domestic, huh?"

"Eugh," Whirl moaned, and rolled back over.

"Excellent!" Brainstorm clapped, "Well, plans established, then. For now, there's nothing special in the kitchen, but obviously, you're welcome to the dispenser. Ooh, remind me to buy a vidscreen tomorrow, that's what we need. Anyway, feel free to wake me up if you need anything."

"Of course," nodded Chromedome, and Brainstorm turned toward his room/lab.

"What?" Whirl asked, rolling over, "What are you doing? Are they staying the night?"

"Sure are!" said Rewind, hopping down into the pit onto the couch next to Whirl, "Do you wanna crash or do you wanna watch a movie? I know how much you like Star Wars."

"What?" Whirl asked again, confused, as Brainstorm shut his door behind him, "What is this?" 

"Suicide watch," said Chromedome, circling the pit to take the steps down, "Welcome to it. Is this your first time?"

" _What?_ What the hell are you talking about? I do _not_ need a suicide watch!" Whirl snapped, shoving himself to sit up.

"Sleep or Star Wars?" Rewind prompted, and Whirl snapped back to look at him again.

"This is stupid," Whirl argued, "You're all overreacting." 

"I disagree," said Chromedome, sitting down on the other side of the couch and Whirl yanked his legs up and crossed them, furious. "Brainstorm seemed pretty worried you might bolt the second he went to bed."

"I would _not_ have!" Whirl lied. 

"Well, then you definitely won't, now," Chromedome nodded. "Honestly, I've never liked Star Wars. Can we watch something else?"

"Oh, come on, Domey, it's his suicide watch, he gets to pick the movie."

"Yeah, _Domey_ , it's _my_ suicide watch, _I_ get to pick the movie," Whirl sneered, as mean as he could, but Chromedome did not seem impressed. 

"What do you want to watch, then?"

Whirl clenched his claws in and out of fists, frustrated, before he groaned and huffed and looked away. "Fine. Whatever. I wanna watch Evangelion."

"That's a bad pick for suicide watch."

"Fine! Kill Bill," he sighed, defeated. Rewind looked delighted. Chromedome looked unhappy with the pick and like he sort of wished he'd let Star Wars go by uncontested. 

* * *

"Oh, Primus, look at the _drawers_ on this one," Brainstorm gushed, gesturing toward a desk that was absolutely lousy with tiny drawers, "You could _fill_ this thing with gears and stuff." 

"I usually keep them in little clear plastic drawers," Whirl said, dubiously, "So you can see them."

"That makes too much sense," Brainstorm sighed, "Okay, not that one then."

"What about this one?" Chromedome suggested, toying with the extending platforms on a fold-out desk, "Very spatially efficient."

"That could work," Whirl touched one of the hinges with his claws, lost in thought, "I could work with that."

"Sick," said Brainstorm, "I need, like, five desks, so at least that's one down, five to go."

"Make sure you don't forget to get one with a heating element this time," Chromedome snorted, and Whirl noted, now that he was watching for it, the way Brainstorm positively lit up whenever Chromedome reminded him of some quirk of his that he remembered. He wondered if the poor bastard even realized he had a crush on his married friend. Whirl wished he could grimace. 

"I never make the same mistake twice," Brainstorm nodded, clapping his hands together, "I will _also_ not forget to get one with a sink and an optical flushing station this time."

"Oh, cool, so I won't have to babysit you for a week while someone builds you new eyes again?" Chromedome chuckled, and Whirl weaved around desks, wondering what kind of desks were good for science. That wasn't his area. Something with outlets, maybe? 

"I would hope you remember the positively _incredible_ echolocation rod I built that week," Brainstorm huffed indignantly. Whirl trailed his claws over a smooth chrome finish and wondered if it was modernist or tacky.

"Ooh, echolocation?" Rewind asked, "Neat."

Whirl watched curiously as Brainstorm's wings fluttered, and then wondered if his non-flying friends were as familiar with wing based body language as Whirl was, or if Brainstorm even realized Whirl might note the minute way they twitched toward their docking position. Landing procedure movements were such strong tells, Whirl thought, they were obnoxious in that you could tell someone wanted to metaphorically roost in a moment they were enjoying. It was why he appreciated his VTOL upgrade so much; it put his emotions on far less visible display, exactly the way he liked it.

"Yes! I've still got my prototype, um, _somewhere_ ," Brainstorm handwaved, "I can probably find it if you want to see it."

"Yeah!" said Rewind, "I've been working on a database for sensory accommodations, actually, it was something that Scavenger fellow had mentioned- uh, one of them, anyway, I was cataloguing ideas and that definitely qualifies I think."

"It's good to be appreciated for the genius that I am," Brainstorm purred, fluttering his wings again before they settled once more in landing position. Whirl tilted his helm, intrigued. So it was like _that_ , then. He had a crush on the _both_ of them. _Very_ intriguing, indeed. Whirl looked back at the desk he had picked out, the one he knew he wasn't going to be paying for, and then back up at the chattering group of saps he had come shopping with. He'd already proven himself more than capable of playing matchmaker once. Maybe, just maybe, he could do it again.

And, hey, if history was an indicator, once he succeeded, they'd all get distracted and forget about him, which was, really, the best thing for everyone. Whirl nodded to himself, mulling it over in his head.

"Hey, Whirl!" Rewind waved, "Come on, we're gonna go look at vidscreens!"

"Coming!" Whirl said, and made his way back over to them, a plan beginning to form in his mind. 


	3. Tell Her to Make Me a Cambric Shirt

Brainstorm wasn’t much surprised to find Chromedome was the only one awake when he opened his door the next morning, Rewind splayed out in his lap like he owned the place, Whirl stubbornly asleep on the other side of the couch, and _not_ in his room. At least him being unconscious meant Brainstorm didn't have to hide the annoyance on his face about the whole scenario. 

"Oh, hey, morning," said Chromedome, looking up from his datapad.

"Whatcha reading?" Brainstorm inquired, crossing the room to the energon dispenser.

"It's a short story Nautica wrote, she asked me to read it and let her know if I thought it was any good," he said, closing it out.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"It's a fiction piece, a romance- it's sort of a love triangle, full of mutual pining and all that."

Brainstorm tossed the first cube to Chromedome, who caught it in one hand and cracked it open, careful not to jostle Rewind. "You hate romances," Brainstorm commented.

"True, but she doesn't know that, and it would have been rude to say." 

"Your aversion to romance stories has always boggled my mind," Brainstorm snorted, grabbing a cube for himself and crossing the room to join Chromedome in the pit, "Your entire life is one long sordid romance. You know, Mach liked romances."

"Did he?" Chromedome asked.

"Oh, yeah, he could gush for _hours_ about the _drama_ of it all, he'd talk your audials off explaining the plot of a story you definitely weren't going to read."

"What did I think of that?" Chromedome asked, hesitantly, "Tell me I wasn't a jerk about it."

"Oh, no," Brainstorm rolled his optics, "No, you would get all moony and listen to him ramble on forever about stuff you didn't even remotely care about. Positively disgusting how romantic it was." 

"Huh," Chromedome said, swishing his breakfast around in its cube before he unlocked his intake and took a swig.

"How late he stay up, then, eh?" Brainstorm nodded at Whirl, changing the subject.

"Oh, he stayed awake long enough to try to explain the influence _Lady Snowblood_ had on the film and then passed out while complaining he'd still never seen _The Bride Wore Black_ all the way through," Chromedome lamented wryly, "Rewind seemed particularly engaged by his bizarre interest in Earth cinema. I don't like revenge thrillers."

"You don't like anything but procedurals and crime noir," Brainstorm snorted, "You're boring."

"I am not," Chromedome took another sip, "At least I watch things other than cartoons."

"It's called _anime_ , Chromedome."

"Right," said Chromedome, dismissively, before he looked back at the helicopter passed out beside him, "So what _is_ this, anyway? You don't even _like_ Whirl."

"Neither do you, but you still came over," Brainstorm wrinkled his nasal ridge and untabbed his faceplate, unimpressed.

"You _asked_ me to," Chromedome reminded him, "I came for _you_ , not him."

"Touched, I am," Brainstorm put off answering for another moment, taking a sip of his fuel, "No one else is gonna do it."

"That's a terrible reason. You moved _in_ with him, you can't just take responsibility for every miserable idiot you meet."

"What, I should have let you drink yourself to death after Mach died?" Brainstorm immediately regretted the jab, it was uncalled for and unkind, but he forged on anyway, "They _left_ him, Chromedome. Like, come on. We all know Whirl's _unstable_ , but left behind on Cybertron without a job or a place to live or anybody keeping an eye on him? You don't have to know him that well to know what's gonna happen. And they _left_ him."

"You're adopting him because you're mad that his friends abandoned him?" Chromedome prodded, "Are you projecting or something?" 

"Maybe," Brainstorm shrugged, "probably."

Chromedome regarded him with sad optics unhappily. "Alright." 

"Whatever. It won't be for long. I mean, probably. They're just honeymooning, they'll come back in a few months and then he can be their problem again," Brainstorm waved dismissively.

"What if they don't come back?"

"Huh?"

"What if they don't come back in a few months?" Chromedome repeated, "What if they just, like, left? Like they aren't planning on living on Cybertron at all."

"Are you kidding me?" Brainstorm laughed, "He's been following them around like a lost turbofox ever since the Megatron thing. They wouldn't have just _left him,_ they're friends. They're not _that_ stupid."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Chromedome conceded, with a sigh, "You signed a _lease_ , though."

"Oh, come on, it's month to month, it's not that big of a deal. I give it three months," he finished off his cube and tossed it at Whirl, who woke with a jerk when it landed on his cockpit. "Good morning, sleepyhead! It's time to go shopping!" 

* * *

"So," asked Brainstorm, biting the insulation off a strip of wire, "What kind of clock is it?"

Whirl didn't look up, legs crossed, body folded over the coffee table as he leaned into his work, claws tweaking nondescript gears into place, "Analog. Keep these things wound and they can tell time perfectly basically forever." 

"Neat," said Brainstorm, even though it wasn't, and flipped open his soldering iron to connect the newly stripped wires to the board strip, "All the ones you brought are digital."

"And they all suck," Whirl said, though it lacked any real bite, too absorbed in his task to get into it, "So I'm goin' back to the good stuff. Analog."

"Maybe you can make me one," Brainstorm said absently, setting the soldering iron aside and setting the mechanism in its casing.

"You can have this one when I'm done," Whirl said, turning away to grab another piece from his little pile on the table, "I don't need it for anything. It's a simple design, something I can't possibly fuck up."

"Oh, cool, thanks." 

"What are you making?" Whirl asked, looking away from his work for the first time.

"An echolocation rod," Brainstorm answered, fiddling with more wires, "I totally lied about still having the prototype. I haven't seen that thing in ages." 

Whirl snickered at him, twirling a pair of tweezers in his claws, "You're hopeless."

Brainstorm frowned, "What is _that_ supposed to mean?" 

"Nothing, nothing," Whirl shrugged, then got momentarily distracted by watching _The Bride in Black_ on the new vidscreen, "You just wear your spark on your sleeve, now that you have one." 

"Uh, okay," Brainstorm said, dismissing his weird rambling, and set the final piece of the casing on, "Nice. Done." 

"So what's the plan for tomorrow, hm?" Whirl prodded, "Can't imagine we're just gonna fuck around and go shopping every day." 

"I'm not going anywhere, if that's what you're asking," Brainstorm sighed. 

"Nah, I promise not to do anything dumb," Whirl set another cog into the piece he was working on, holding the tweezers carefully in his claws, "Cross my wayward spark." 

Brainstorm eyed him, optics narrowed in suspicion, "Alright. I really don't have anywhere to be, though." 

"No plans on getting a job?" 

"I'm going solo," Brainstorm leaned back, holding up his new wand and inspecting it, "I'm just gonna invent stuff and live off patents for awhile."

"Fun." 

"What about you?" Brainstorm inquired, "Did you have any ideas for what you want to do with your time?" 

Whirl paused, optic tracking back and forth, before he resumed his work, "I dunno." 

"You don't have to get a job if you don't feel up to it," Brainstorm set the wand back on the table, "I'm serious that if you ask Drift for money he just gives it to you. It's not a big deal. But, you know, like, hobbies, jobs, whatever, something. You gotta have something to do or you just end up lying around and doing nothing."

"I've got clocks," he said, halfheartedly. 

"Which is good! Uh, maybe, like, a clock… making… club? Or something?" 

Whirl cut him a look and Brainstorm shrugged. 

"Nah," Whirl said, eventually, "I ain't very good at it, at least, not yet. I'm only really good at one thing and nobody wants me blowin' nothin' up no more, which makes that a bit of a pickle." 

"I'm sure that's not the _only_ thing you're good at," Brainstorm scoffed, "Those craftsmech skills have got to translate to _something._ Come on, you put Megatron's spark in him, surely that counts for _something._ "

"Whatever," Whirl mumbled, "I ain't got any friends to call in favours from, Delorean. People don't _like_ me. Not even _you_ like me, you just can't help but _pity_ me. Nobody who knows my name is giving me a job."

"Delorea- I'm not a _car_ ," Brainstorm frowned. "You're exaggerating." 

"Sure," said Whirl, twisting something and then flipping the whole thing over and setting the face into its housing, "There. Done." He tossed it at Brainstorm, who fumbled to catch it. It was a simple piece, but undeniably pretty, gold and black. 

"Oh, uh, thanks," he stammered, as Whirl stood up.

"I'm goin' to bed," Whirl announced, "I promise not to do anything stupid to piss you off. You can go outside if you want, I ain't gonna kill myself tomorrow." Brainstorm watched him as he clambered out of the pit and shut the door to his room behind him. He set the clock down on the coffee table next to his wand and sat back, tapping his faceplate in thought, before he opened a commline.

"Hey, Brainstorm, it's late, what's up?" asked Swerve, yawning. 

"Are you still planning on opening another bar?" Brainstorm inquired. 

"Oh, yeah, I picked a place today and everything."

"How crazy of me would it be to ask if you would consider giving Whirl a job?" 

Swerve began laughing hysterically, " _Whirl?!_ " he spat between breaths, "Are you _joking_? Which do you think would bankrupt me first, the broken glassware or him drinking all my stock?"

Brainstorm frowned, "Pretty crazy, then, I suppose."

"Why are you even asking?" Swerve prodded, still giggling, "Is this hypothetical or are you, like, hanging out?"

"We're roommates."

"Oh, Primus, I'm so sorry."

"Right," said Brainstorm, annoyed, "Sorry to bug you so late, then, don't worry about it."

"Good luck with the jobquest," Swerve chuckled, "That's gonna be a tough one."

Brainstorm cut the line and carded his hands, tapping his fingertips together in thought. He tried another number.

"I keep trying to tell you," said Drift, sounding annoyed, "if you need money you can just ask. You don't need to convince me I forgot I lost a bet."

"No, I'm fine, it's not about that," Brainstorm waved away, "I had a different question."

"Oh, sorry, then. What is it?" 

"You and Ratchet are starting a free clinic, aren't you? I remember you talking about that at the party."

"Yes, that's the plan!" Drift answered, a bit of pep returning to his voice, "We've not really started yet, but we're going to."

"How crazy of me would it be- and don't laugh- how crazy of me would it be to ask if you'd consider giving Whirl a job?"

There was a long moment of silence. "What?"

"A job. For Whirl. At the clinic you're starting. I don't think it would have to be much, I dunno, he could be like a secretary or something? I just think he really needs something to do, somewhere to be."

"Why are you asking about Whirl? I thought he went off planet with Cyclonus and Tailgate?" 

"No," Brainstorm glanced back at Whirl's door to make sure it was still shut, "They left him." 

"They _left_ him?" Drift repeated, sounding confused, "I thought they were friends."

"Well that's what I thought," Brainstorm groaned, "But I saw him leaving alone after the party-"

"Oh, no."

"-And he went straight to the rust sea, to go for a _swim_ , as it were. I talked him down, but I mean, he's still Whirl." 

"Yes, that… does sound like him," Drift sighed, and sounded tired, suddenly, "Let me speak to Ratchet about it. You're probably right, but I don't know. Whirl's not… terrifically reliable." 

"I'm not saying you have to, I get it, it's _Whirl_ ," Brainstorm leaned back and kicked his pedes up on the coffee table, "But if you have any other ideas I'm open to them. I'm afraid to leave him alone for too long."

"I don't blame you. I'll speak to Ratchet and get back to you."

"Thanks."

Brainstorm cut the line and sighed, tipping his head back to stare blankly at the ceiling. He was really in over his head here. He didn't know what he was doing. Whirl was not his problem to solve. Not anybody's, really, they all had their own problems to deal with. Brainstorm cut a glance back to Whirl's door. And yet, here he was. Dealing with him. 

He stood up with a huff and picked up his echolocation wand and then the clock Whirl had thrown at him and brought them both back to his room, setting the wand in a pile with a bunch of other nonsense for later, and the clock on his nightstand, giving it a wind as he did. He hit the berth like a sack of rocks, staring again at the ceiling and willing it to reveal the solutions to his problems. 


	4. Tracing of Sparrow on Snow-Crested Ground

Whirl woke feeling even less rested than he had the previous morning. Three days into his post-Lost Light life and he was already tired of it. He wasn't exactly swimming in options, though. Brainstorm had been right that he was stubborn enough to provide a challenge. It didn't really matter all that much, though. Eventually he'd ruin things, by dying, by killing, by being himself, it wasn't all that important how, but eventually. 

For now he rolled out of bed and off into the kitchen to patronize the dispenser. He was surprised to see that Brainstorm wasn't up yet. Sleeping in? That was more like it. Whirl sat on the counter for awhile, finishing his breakfast and thinking about it, but Brainstorm still didn't make an appearance, so he made up his mind and slid open the glass doors to the helipad, slipping in the early morning mist in his alt mode.

It was a nice morning, pink-blue sky pushing the last of the night's starscape away into the opposite horizon. New Cybertron was infuriatingly close to where old Cybertron had been and yet slightly different, rendering the constellations in uncanny valley, slightly different but only just so, only when he was really paying attention. He found it unsettling and wondered if he would get used to it, the way he did whenever stars burned out and changed the sky. 

For now, it was day, the skies were clear, and no one was looking for him yet. A perfect morning for flying. 

Whirl caught a nice tailwind heading north and flirted with the upper echelon of his altitude level, enjoying the thin air on his plating. It was nice to go flying. He hadn't been flying, really flying in ages; living in space had made that impossible. The Lost Light had been in dire need of a wind tunnel. At least that was one nice thing about being back on Cybertron, getting to take long, quiet flights like this through real air. 

The flight itself was nice, but looking down on Iacon, less so. It was totally unrecognizable, an unfamiliar hellscape of Functionist style architecture and broken buildings. He stopped in a convenience store to pick up a bottle of engex and found himself deeply uncomfortable standing in the shop when he realized every other person in the room was an empurata head. It wasn't until that moment it really occurred to him how few of them were left from old Cybertron- he was the only one he could think of offhand, certainly the only one of note now that Shockwave was dead. He hadn't stood in a room full of other cyclops since the war started and the rest of them joined the other side and got their faces put back on. 

He left without any engex, perturbed, and took to the air again to get out of the city. It was uncomfortable here, utilitarian, ugly, unfamiliar. He was just passing the outskirts when he got a call from Brainstorm.

"Heya," he answered casually.

"Where the _hell_ are you?" Brainstorm snapped, and Whirl wanted to laugh at how pissed he sounded. What did he expect?

"Flyin'," Whirl said, innocently.

"You lied to me!"

"I did _not_ ," Whirl scoffed, "I said I wouldn't off myself, I didn't say I wouldn't bounce."

"You said you wouldn't do anything stupid to piss me off!"

"Whoops," Whirl snickered, and felt elated enough by the whole conversation to do a barrel roll.

"Are you coming back?"

"Maybe," Whirl responded, and cut his commline. He blocked him before he could call back, and let the air currents tilt him where they may. He didn't stop flying until the sun was overhead and he was getting low on fuel, and he tilted up to the nearest cliff, transforming once he was over it and landing with a thump. He trotted over to the edge and plopped down, dangling his legs over the side. 

He'd been a dick, but, it was for the best. He wasn't entirely sure why Brainstorm had taken such a weird interest in him all of a sudden, but he might have forgotten what Whirl _was_ , why everyone hated him so much, and he was clearly in need of a _reminder_ that there wasn't going to be any payoff for _investing_ in him.

He scanned the landscape and tried to figure out where he was from context clues, eventually gave up and opened his GPS. Ah, the sonic canyons. Whatever was left of them anyway. They didn't seem especially sonic anymore. He wondered what had happened to them. 

He wondered what happened to a lot of things. Him, idly, but, if he was being honest, he _knew_ what had happened to him, it was just that knowing didn't equal _fixing_. He wondered what happened with him and Cyclonus, mostly. Whirl flopped back against the ground and stared at the clouds, wondering if he would be lucky enough to get an acid storm. It looked like too nice a day for that, though. 

_"I did what?" Whirl asked, rubbing his helm. It wasn't a migraine anymore, at least, but he was still accosted by an irritating low grade ache in the back of his processor, an itch he couldn't scratch. The medibay hummed and clicked around him, casting artsy shadows in strange directions in the late evening's low light. Cyclonus had finally pulled up a chair and stopped fawning completely over Tailgate and let him get some rest._

_"You told me to let Tailgate stay with Getaway. I'm fairly certain at this point that was a feint, but everything else you said was very earnest."_

_"That don't sound like me," Whirl leaned on one elbow on his knee, unamused, "I ain't an earnest fella."_

_"You're obscenely earnest, all the time, you just pretend your earnest thoughts are actually insults and people believe you."_

_"That sounds like me."_

_"I'm still trying to put it together," Cyclonus carded his hands together in thought, "We spoke, and then your holoform appeared outside my window, and then when I went to your room you'd already been nudge gunned, and changed all the clocks. So you must have met with Getaway."_

_"Must've. Must've changed the clocks before I got nudge gunned, so I must've known he was gonna shoot me with it."_

_"Getaway has been manipulating Tailgate for some time," Cyclonus continued, voice terse, "I'm still trying to figure out how you were involved. If you changed your mind just because we spoke, what were you_ doing _before this? What was your role in the operation?"_

_Whirl squinted at him, "I don't know. You literally know I don't know. Do you think I'm immune to amnesia or somethin'?"_

_Cyclonus turned away from his folded hands to regard Whirl carefully, red optics tracking him like a book, before he spoke, "Megatron had mentioned a theory that worried me."_

_"Ugh, what could the old man have to say worth saying?" Whirl groaned, rolling his optic and leaning back against the headboard of the medical berth, claws behind his head, "I hate to break it to you, Cyc, but it seems pretty cut and dry I'm just an asshole. That's not even something you don't know."_

_"He mentioned something that happened shortly after Megatron came on board originally, that I wonder if you still remember- he said you attacked him?"_

_Whirl tilted his helm in thought, looking up, "Yeah, I still got that floatin' around my noggin."_

_"Well, point in being- Getaway wanted Megatron to kill Tailgate so that killing Megatron in response would be justified, and he thought that maybe-"_

_"You're giving me too much credit," Whirl offlined his optic, "You think I'm that deep? You think I could keep a secret that long?"_

_Cyclonus was quiet for a moment and Whirl fidgeted, uncomfortable in the silence, "Did you want him to kill you?"_

_Whirl twitched, tapped his pede, shrugged. "That's stupid," he said eventually._

_"Is it?" Cyclonus pried further, "When he said it I scoffed at the idea, you and I are warriors, you can be erratic, but you aren't suicidal." Whirl twitched again and made a gagging motion with one claw towards his helm. "But after he left I thought about it more, and I wondered, for the first time, and could not think of a satisfactory answer, what it was that you were doing when we first met."_

_Whirl onlined his optic and stared at him, "What?"_

_"Before we left Cybertron, the first time. You had a match, and-"_

_"And I was gonna blow the place, yeah," Whirl snapped, leaning forward, "I wasn't going to fucking_ kill myself _. Are you nuts? Give me some fucking credit, Cyc."_

_Cyclonus seemed dubious, mouth a grave line, optics searching and not finding, "I wondered."_

_"Don't insult me," Whirl snarled, leaning back again and turning his optic away, "I'm not_ that _kind of headcase."_

Whirl reached up with one claw and traced the edges of a cloud that was warping into the shape of an hourglass lazily above him. He'd done this to himself. There was no one else to blame for his problems. 

In the distance, he heard a rumbling and tilted his helm back until the top of it was flush with the ground, watching an upside down dust cloud turn into a familiar gangly alt mode approaching his position. He briefly considered sitting up and flying away, Chromedome had a land based alt, it wasn't like he could catch up to him. Briefly he considered sitting up and just going over the side in his root, but that was just edgy, far too dramatic. Probably not even high enough, anyway. He waited patiently for his visitor to approach and transform. Even with a mouthplate and a visor, his irritation was apparent. 

"You've got a lot of nerve, you know that?" Chromedome said, and Whirl laughed. If he was trying to talk him down, that was a bad start. 

"What, stormcloud get sick of me already?" Whirl asked, smug.

"You blocked him, idiot, he can't ping you," Chromedome snapped, then trotted over and sat down beside him with a thump, "What are you _doing_?"

"Went out to get some exercise," Whirl answered, offlining his optic and putting his claws behind his head, kicking his legs idly over the side of the cliff, "It's a nice day."

"He's worried sick about you," Chromedome snapped, "He really thought you were gonna do it."

"What, and you didn't?" 

"No, I know you just want _attention_."

Whirl shrugged, trying not to let it show how the answer had annoyed him. 

Whirl enjoyed the breeze over his armour for another moment before Chromedome spoke again. "What are you doing, Whirl?"

"I told you, I'm-"

"No, I mean what are you _doing?_ " Chromedome repeated, "Why do you _do_ stuff like this?"

"Why indeed," Whirl mused.

"Listen," Chromedome sighed, "I know we don't know each other that well, but, come on. Nobody's going to be happy if you off yourself."

"You say that," Whirl murmured, "But you know it ain't true."

"Alright, fine. Some people would be happy. Who cares what they want, though? There's plenty of people who _wouldn't_ be."

"And they're _gone_ ," Whirl sat up with a huff, leaning forward on his thighs, "I managed to make, like, two friends the whole quest, and as soon as it was over, they left. What's the point?"

Chromedome regarded him with pity, then shifted forward to drop his own legs over the edge, "That was shitty of them."

"Hardly. You don't want to be here either. Ain't nobody interested in dealing with my shit and I don't blame 'em." 

"I don't want to be here," Chromedome echoed, "But I still showed up." 

"What's the point," Whirl repeated, "I'm back where I was before the whole thing started. Nowhere to be, no one who wants me anywhere. We both know I'm gonna keep doing this, I'm gonna keep making everyone miserable. I ain't built to survive without a war and ain't nobody need me for nothin' else. I'm gonna keep fuckin' up and disappointin' anyone stupid enough to expect any better. It's kinder to quit now before it gets any worse."

"Since when did you care about what's kinder?" Chromedome scoffed, "You're _totally_ going to keep fucking up and doing this, you aren't going to stop having bad days, but aren't the good days worth it?"

"Are they?"

"I mean, mine are. Haven't you had any days that were worth it?"

Whirl paused, then looked away, "Yeah. But they're over now."

"That's defeatist," Chromedome sighed, "How about this, then. If you kill yourself now you won't have a chance to find out if you can get more good days, huh? Let Brainstorm fuss over you, he's getting some kind of cathartic rush from it. Give it a chance. If you're still miserable you can always kill yourself later, but at least give it a shot first."

Whirl tapped a claw against his helm for a minute in thought, "You're very persuasive," he said eventually. 

"Don't give me too much credit, I'm practically quoting Rewind verbatim here."

Whirl snorted, "Two mechs sitting on a cliff and whining about how annoying it is when people are nice to 'em, huh?"

"God, it's insufferable sometimes. I hate being talked down."

"Like somebody who needs talkin' down!" Whirl whined, waving a claw for emphasis, "Sometimes I just wanna be like, haha, when will Primus smite me down for my sins, huh? And people are like oh _noooo_ Whirl don't _saaay_ that!"

"Do you want to talk about your _feeeelings_?" Chromedome added, rolling his optical display, "No, I don't, I want to watch _Murder She Wrote_ and go to bed, I've talked about this slag enough to fill a book and I'm tired of talking about it."

"The worst!" Whirl moaned in sympathy, "God, I was so pissed on Mederi. Like, are you kidding? This is what happens when you die? Well, that fucking _sucks_."

"Tell me about it," Chromedome sighed, "I mean, certainly better for me than you at the time, but even still, I was like, wow, I kind of expected a little more than this." 

"Cyclonus's religion fucking sucks, I will never understand how he can be so passionate about such a boring afterlife," Whirl rolled his optic, and then had a thought and changed gears, "I'm sorry about Rewind and Dominus, though. Bein', uh, holograms. I was pretty excited to see Springarm again, even if he wasn't real."

Chromedome shifted uncomfortably and sighed, "Yeah. That was nice, for a minute there."

"You think it would have worked out?" Whirl prodded, "Four of you?"

"I wonder that sometimes," Chromedome mumbled, "I would have liked it too."

"Hm," Whirl hummed, "No use dwellin' on what you can't have, I guess."

Chromedome cut him a glance, "If this is about Cyclonus and Tailgate, I honestly was surprised they _weren't_ trying to pull you into their relationship."

Whirl flinched. That _hadn't_ been his angle, but at least it let him be a little more subtle, so he latched onto it, "Nah. They were never interested in me for that."

"You really think so?"

"They left, didn't they?"

"They did…" Chromedome murmured, "I still think that was shitty of them."

"They're honeymooning. They're not obligated to drag me around just cuz I'll get depressed if they don't."

"Whirl, I don't know if you know this, but literally every person you've ever met knows you're a suicidal bastard. Did they even ask anyone to keep an eye on you?"

"I'unno. Guess not, since no one did. I mean Brainstorm did, but no one asked him to do that."

"Shitty friends," Chromedome reaffirmed, "I'm serious, Brainstorm _does_ this. He latches onto people and he can't help himself. Don't get caught up in thinking you're burdening him, he's getting a high from it."

"You and him have the weirdest fucking friendship," Whirl sniffed, "That's such a weird thing to say." 

"Just let someone help you for once in your life, will you? Like I said, you can always kill yourself later, after you've tried the alternative." 

Whirl pulled up his legs beneath him and pushed himself to his pedes with a resigned sigh, "Fine, whatever. Are you gonna babysit me going home or what?"

"You want me to?"

Whirl paused, looked back the way he had come, then back at the cliff. "Yeah."

"Alright. Let's go back, then."


	5. Without No Seams Nor Needlework

Brainstorm spent most of the morning trying to develop some kind of remote viewing device that would let him figure out what the hell Whirl was doing, or at least, a way to force unblock himself.

By the time Chromedome brought Whirl back Brainstorm was set to kill him, but Chromedome made a kill it gesture the second they were in the door and suggested watching _Murder She Wrote_ and they did that instead. Apparently they were not talking about this. 

Eventually Chromedome left, and Whirl went to bed, lingering just long enough before the door shut to say, "Thanks." For what, Brainstorm wasn't sure, but once he was alone, he returned to his room.

Brainstorm picked up the clock from his bedside table and spun it in his hands thoughtfully. Whirl was a problem. Whirl was a big problem. 

He opened a commline and tried to call Cyclonus, and received only static for his trouble. He shut down his comm and twirled the clock again. Perhaps a remote viewing device wasn't what he needed, but a better comm unit. Something that would let him make an instant call across the universe. That would be useful even in _normal_ circumstances. What a genius idea of him. 

He crossed the room to his tinkering desk and set the clock on it, giving it another wind. First thing in any good concept was numbers. Measurements. Data. He dragged the clock across the desk, one handed, turning it so he could see the face, and sent a ping to Chromedome, marking down the delay in pingback response query. He opened his comm again and pinged someone further away, making notes as he did, clock face reflecting the dim lamplight in his room.

* * *

Brainstorm was emotionally prepared to leave his room the next morning and find Whirl had bolted again, but this time he was sitting on the counter, kicking his pedes back and forth and sipping a cube of mid-grade while a black and white movie played in the vidscreen. Whirl gave him a wave as he entered, and hesitantly, Brainstorm returned it.

"Guess _what!_ " Whirl said, throwing his arms wide.

"What?" Brainstorm inquired.

"I," Whirl said, sitting up straight and puffing out his chest, "Got a _job._ " 

Brainstorm blinked his optics, "Where?"

"Ratchet called," Whirl announced, "He needs a bodyguard for him'n Drift's clinic. Security type, you know, for rabble."

"Oh!" Brainstorm tittered, wings fluttering, "That's great! Good to hear they're still doing that, then."

"Sure is," Whirl chugged his cube, "Guess I owe you an apology for saying ain't nobody givin' me a job, eh? Ol' Whirlibird just bein' edgy about that one, apparently."

Brainstorm fluttered his wings again in thought, twitching, "Well, it's not the _only_ thing you could apologize for, you know."

Whirl twitched, tapped, spun his cube, shrugged, "Yeah. Alright. Sorry about that."

Brainstorm brightened, " _Thank_ you."

Whirl shrugged again, playing it cool, and Brainstorm letting, crossing the counter to access the dispenser and get his own breakfast. "When do you start?" 

"Not for a couple days, they haven't started or anything, they're still canvassing locations, and like, hiring people or whatever, _but_ ," Whirl wagged a claw at him, "I will be _covering_ my half of the rent, eh?"

"Great!" Brainstorm nodded, "You can pay me back for the desk then, eh?"

Whirl synthesized a snort and tossed his empty cube across the kitchen into the bin, "'Scuse you, that was a gift."

"Oh, my mistake," Brainstorm rolled his optics, privately delighted, "Were the clockwork tools also gifts?"

"Yeah."

Brainstorm snorted. "You're welcome."

* * *

Brainstorm had almost expected Whirl to come home from his first day helping Drift and Ratchet and announce he had immediately been fired, but apparently it had gone well. He mostly just picked up and moved heavy stuff around. Brainstorm called Drift and thanked him about two hundred times for helping him out, but he'd just said that Ratchet had felt like he owed him for some reason and that had been that. 

He kept waiting for the other gear to drop and Whirl to get sick of things and run off again, but for now things seemed stable- or at least, precariously balanced, but not immediately falling apart. 

Brainstorm kept himself busy with his own work, flitting between projects. It was exciting enough not having anyone telling him what he could or couldn't make, but, also, no one was funding his projects, which was annoying. He was already starting to long for a better equipped lab and a focused direction for someone to be pointing him in. Maybe this living off the patents thing was overrated.

His long-range no-delay comm project loitered untouched on the edge of his tinkering desk while he let himself get distracted developing a gun that fired smaller guns, something Whirl seemed particularly excited to see when he told him about it, suggesting he adjust the barrel construction to a more informal design he sketched haphazardly on his white board. It was a helpful suggestion, and Brainstorm ending up preferring the configuration.

Things fell into a steady rhythm within a few weeks, until came the day Brainstorm left for _one day_ to file a briefcase full of patents and came home to… well, _something_ bizarre. 

He opened the door and found Whirl frantically _vacuuming_ of all things. Brainstorm stood in the doorway, staring, before he noticed all of the _candles._ Why were there so many _candles_? Where did Whirl even _get_ so many _candles_?

"Oh, good, you're home!" Whirl chirped, surged toward him and handed him the vacuum, "Finish this."

Brainstorm held the vacuum and stared as Whirl scuttled back into the kitchen and to _something_ he was cooking.

"What," said Brainstorm, intelligently. 

"Shut the door, you're letting the AC out," Whirl snapped, and Brainstorm did as he was told, "And finish vacuuming! Quick, quick, they'll be here soon." 

" _What_ ," Brainstorm repeated, but he scrambled to turn the vacuum back on anyway, " _Who?_ "

"I called Chromedome and Rewind and said they were needed for another Whirlibird suicide watch," Whirl explained, pulling a lid off of something and releasing a mushroom cloud of steam, "Oh, don't worry, I'm fine, this is a hashtag _ruse_."

"A- why a hashtag? Is that… trending? Are ruses trending?"

"No, I'm making fun of Rodimus," Whirl stirred the pot and added something glowing into it with a spoon, "It's not as funny when he ain't in your immediate social circle anymore. Anyway, they'll be here soon."

"What does- what does that have to do- why did you-"

Whirl dumped something that glowed blue and pink into a strainer in the sink, "It's a _date_ , dummy. A _secret_ date."

"A _what?!_ "

The doorbell rang. Brainstorm dropped the vacuum.

"Throw that in the closet," Whirl said, throwing the energon spaghetti he'd made back into the pot, "and remember to play it cool!" He skittered around the counter towards the door. Brainstorm scrambled to pick the vacuum back up.

"Wait, Whirl, Primus, _don't-_ " he started, clutching the vacuum against his chest as if it could prevent his spark from pulsing right out of it as Whirl threw the door open. 

"Welcome to Whirlstorm Central!" Whirl announced, rubbing his claws together, "And thanks for coming, I really appreciate it." 

"Why are there so many candles?" Rewind asked, immediately confused as Whirl led them both inside.

"It's called _self-care_ , camcorder, candles, low light, soft blankets and stuff, it's on the internet, it's good for improving your mood," Whirl said in a very practiced way. 

"Uh… Brainstorm?" Chromedome asked, hesitantly, and Brainstorm dropped the vacuum, swallowing. 

"Uh," he said, intelligently, "Yeah, that's what it says on the internet. Worth a shot, huh?" 

"I guess so," Chromedome fielded, "Uh. Did you make pasta?" 

"It's good to do things to keep your mind busy," said Whirl, without missing a beat, "It's good for _coping_. Think of it as me thankin' ya for comin' over." 

"Anytime," said Chromedome, hesitantly, as he stared at the table Whirl had set, like it was a bear trap. Whirl put both claws on his shoulders and guided him into a chair. Rewind seemed significantly less alarmed, even somewhat amused by the development. 

Brainstorm fluctuated somewhere between murderous intent and overwhelming delight, and settled on being delighted now and murdering Whirl later. Whirl dumped energon pasta out onto plates and plopped down into a chair with a thump, looking utterly pleased with himself. 

"Have a seat, stormcloud, I worked hard on this, eh?" Whirl prodded, twirling a fork in his claws. Brainstorm skittered into a seat, anxiety skyrocketing through the ceiling. He had no idea what Whirl's game was, but-

"So what did y'all do today?" Whirl asked, innocently. Brainstorm stared at his twirling fork and wondered what the hell the plan was. Three people here had non standard intakes. They didn't do solid energon. 

"Well, actually," said Chromedome, "Apparently the intellectual class was done away with on New Cybertron ages ago, but I heard today they were opening a new University in Iacon and I was browsing the proposal today, just thinking."

"Oh, yeah?" Brainstorm tilted his head, interested, "What about? You're not going back to-"

"No, no, they're out," Chromedome waved a hand to show his sealed fingertips, "The deed is done on that one. I was more thinking- what ever happened to therapists, you know? I want to do something good, something productive, something new. It's just a thought, I've not made any decisions or anything, I was only considering it."

"I think you'd be a great therapist, Domey," Rewind said, patting him on the arm, "You got a real good perspective to help people."

"Do you think it might be too much for you?" Brainstorm fretted, frowning, "It's hard to take on everyone else's problems."

Chromedome snorted, looked at Whirl, who waved, then looked back at Brainstorm, "I know. But I think… yeah, I think I can handle it. And I mean, if I can't, then, I don't do it anymore, right?"

"Right!" Rewind nodded, "Don't worry. I'll be keeping an eye on him. I won't let him bury himself in it."

"I still don't even know if I'm _going_ to," Chromedome reminded him, "It's just a thought."

"Seems like a good idea to me," said Whirl, still twirling the pasta he couldn't really eat, "Could use more of those around here. Anyway!" He made an exaggerated show of yawning and stretching his limbs, "It's gettin' late. Long day of suicidal ideation for ol' Whirlibird. I'm gonna hit the hay." Whirl stood and dumped his untouched plate in the recycler.

"What? Already?" Rewind stammered.

"Don't you-" Chromedome started, but Whirl cut him off, making a show of yawning again as he crossed the room to his room and shut the door behind him. 

"What was _that_ about?" Rewind asked, after a moment had passed. 

"I-" Brainstorm started, staring at Whirl's closed door, "I have no idea. Whirl is… an odd roommate."

"Does he do this often?" Chromedome asked.

"No, this one is new," Brainstorm finally looked back at the table, "Uh, you want a cube instead?" 

"I feel bad," said Rewind, "He went to the trouble to cook." 

" _He_ can't eat it either," Brainstorm groused, picking up the plates and heading to the recycler, "He's just… odd." 

Brainstorm was caught between being mortified and consumed by embarrassment for the whole thing and touched by the gesture, but the whole thing was pointless. Whirl _clearly_ thought he could play his little matchmaker game with him like he did his last friends, but Brainstorm knew better. He had known Chromedome and Rewind far too long to hold any delusions about their relationship. They were happy, and that was enough. He knew better than to fight for more than he was given.

"Should we do something about the candles?" Chromedome asked, inspected one of the candles set on the table with intrigue, "I mean. He left."

"Yeah, I guess we should put those out," Brainstorm sighed, picked up a candle and blew. 

"At least you two are getting along," Chromedome laughed, pinching a candle wick, "I really didn't anticipate this going so well. I thought for sure by now he would have annoyed you out of house and home."

"It's only been a few weeks," Brainstorm commented, "He's really not so bad, he mostly keeps to himself. He doesn't leave his room much."

"Still," said Chromedome, with a nod, "I'm glad it's working out."

"It is," said Brainstorm, unclipping his faceplate and tossing it on the counter.

"Well, we're already here," said Rewind, grabbing a cube from the dispenser and tossing it playfully in the air a few times, "Do you wanna call him back out and watch a movie? He's been pestering me to bring _Андрей Рублёв_ for days."

"Sounds like a plan," Brainstorm flashed him a thumbs up and a smile, and Rewind twitched, tilting his head up, "What?"

"I've just never seen you smile before," said Rewind with a laugh, "You have a nice smile." 

"Even with the kinky cheek holes," Chromedome teased, and Brainstorm fluttered his wings, embarrassed but warm in his chest, and laughed along, before he went to go drag Whirl back out of his room. Whirl spent the first ten minutes sitting, standing, pacing, changing seats, and when he finally settled down Brainstorm realized Whirl had somehow managed in his constant seat switches to get him sitting _between_ Chromedome and Rewind.


	6. Bedclothes, the Child of the Mountain

Whirl dropped the last of the crates on the loading dock and gave the truck a quick pat to let him know he was done. He transformed and stretched his arms up, cycling wheels and pistons.

"Long drive, eh, Pitstop?" Whirl said, amiably. The truck nodded.

"Bit more of a rush delivery than I usually like, but for Ratchet? How can I say no, huh?" The trucker laughed, pulling a datapad from his subspace. 

"I'll go get Ratch," Whirl said, with a nod, and started to turn before Pitstop waved him to stop.

"Nah, don't worry about it, he said you could sign for it."

"He did?" Whirl blinked, staring down at the datapad for a moment, as if he didn't understand what he was meant to do, before he took it and signed his name. 

"Oh, yeah, he forget to tell you?" Pitstop checked the signature and popped it back in his subspace, "He mentioned it when he was calling in the delivery, said to authorize you for signin'. About time, I say." 

"Oh," said Whirl, "Cool."

"Anyway, see you next time, eh, Whirl?" 

"See you, Pitstop."

Whirl closed the delivery gate door at the back of the clinic, lost in thought as he went about breaking down the delivery crate and sorting out all the supplies he needed to move to their final homes around the place, into storage closets, drawers, desks, cabinets. The day was almost over and he wanted to finish before he went home. 

The door to the rest of the clinic opened and Drift blinked at him, then smiled.

"Ah, there you are! I was worried it wouldn't come," Drift said, crossing the room to where Whirl was sorting supplies. 

"You pay for rush delivery, you get rush delivery, eh?" Whirl commented, inspecting a box for the label.

"Let me help, I don't want to keep you late," Drift took the box he was holding and set it aside. 

"Aw, I don't mind stayin' late," Whirl handwaved, "I ain't got plans or nothin'."

"I'm sure if you're a minute late Brainstorm will be chattering my audials off," Drift laughed.

Whirl rolled his optic in its housing, "Micromanager." 

"You should appreciate the concern," Drift suggested, kicking away the emptied crate while Whirl shoved the second in the spot it vacated.

"You know I'd never admit it if I did," Whirl tutted, pulling the top off the crate with a heave, "But I do. It's been a long time since I had a roommate. Kinda forgot how convenient it was."

Drift hummed in laughter, "Tell me about it. I don't much miss sleeping alone."

"Aw, gross, feelings, keep those away from me," Whirl made a gagging motion. 

"Absolutely lousy with them," Drift smiled, "You might even try it sometime."

"No _thank_ you."

"No?" Drift prodded, "Nobody caught your interest at all?" 

"What? No," Whirl tilted his helm at him, confused by the insistence, "Why are you asking?" 

"Oh, no reason, no reason," Drift said quickly. Whirl narrowed his optic at him, before hefting up a box of supplies going to the front storage closet.

"No, what? What are you pokin' at?" Whirl asked, as Drift picked up his own load and followed him.

"I only mean- well, you know, you've been living with Brainstorm for six months now, and it seems like you two are very _close_ , and-"

" _What?!_ " Whirl laughed so hard he nearly dropped his boxes, "Are you _joking?_ "

"I'm not!" Drift continued, undeterred, "He preens over you like a mother hen!"

"What's a hen?"

"Its- it's an Earth creature, it's a female chicken."

"Oh! Right, those. No, he doesn't."

"He does!" Drift insisted, "Come on, he's been so worried about you ever since after the party-"

Whirl paused, one hand on the storage closet door, before he turned his head back toward him, "What about after the party?"

Drift stopped, then pursed his lips, "Um, the one on the Lost Light. You moved in right after, so-"

"No, no, why'd you say _after_ like that?" Whirl shoved the box in the closet and leaned on the door, "Did he _tell_ you?"

Drift tapped the box for a moment, as if he was debating lying, before he nodded, "He did."

Whirl tightened his grip and then shook his head, grabbing the box and shoving it in the closet with the other. "Right."

"Don't be upset with him," Drift said, quickly, "Like you said, he micromanages." 

"Tell me he told you _after_ you gave me this job, huh?" Whirl asked, leaning on the box as it sat on the closet shelf, shoulders hiked. 

Drift was silent.

"Right," Whirl repeated, leaning up and quickly walking around Drift back towards the loading bay, "I'll finish up myself."

"Whirl-" Drift sighed, turning to follow him, "It's not a _pity_ thing-"

"I don't wanna hear it," Whirl snapped, "I wanna finish my _job_ for the day that you pay me to do."

"Is everything alright out here?" Ratchet asked, leaning around a corner into the hallway.

"It's _fine,_ " Whirl spat back at him, but he knew his stabilizers were vibrating, angry, and he fought to keep his body from betraying him as it always did, when he was _trying_ not to lose his cool over something he should have already known. 

"Whirl, it is not _shameful_ to be helped, to have others want to help you," Drift said, and Whirl, standing between them, twitched, feeling trapped, not wanting to proceed down the hall past Ratchet. 

"I didn't say it was," he said, defiantly. 

Ratchet looked between the two of them, confused, before he spoke, "It's alright, Whirl. Why don't you go home early?" 

"No, I'm not done unpacking that order you called in and I know we're-" Whirl argued, but Ratchet gave him a hard look that stopped him.

"I said go _home_ , Whirl," Ratchet said, firmly, and Whirl felt his spark spin, uncertain if he was being fired or not. He clicked his claws a few times, anxious, before he turned back towards Drift and shoved past him.

"Fine," he said, simply, and went home. 

* * *

Whirl didn't go home directly. Drift had been right that Brainstorm would call if he was late, but he'd left early. He stopped by a corner shop and grabbed a bottle of engex, refraining from making optic contact with the empuratee cashier. 

He stopped by a park near their apartment that he could see the big clocktower from and sat on a bench alone in the fading daylight and started drinking. The time ticked slowly, and his spark felt slow in his chest, too. 

_"Okay, go," Tailgate said, and Whirl, optic closed, tipped back the glass he'd shoved into his claws and tasted it, thinking for a moment._

_"Hm… Centurion triple filtered high-grade, cesium flavoured."_

_"Amazing!" Tailgate clapped, "What colour is it?"_

_"Blue. Like cyan."_

_"I can't believe you can do that!" Tailgate cheered, as Whirl onlined his optic to inspect the bottle next to Tailgate and confirm he'd guessed correctly._

_"Practice, pipsqueak, practice. You'll get there."_

_"Damn right!" Tailgate flashed him a thumbs up, "I'm going to rival you at this one day, just you wait."_

_"I'll be waiting," Whirl snorted, feeling warm._

He took a swig of engex and then stared at the ground instead. 

Six months. He opened his comm and pinged Cyclonus again. He felt empty, waiting for the ping to return, and getting only silence. He closed his comm. 

_"Okay, go!" Tailgate cheered. Optic closed, Whirl chugged._

_"Okay, come on," Whirl scoffed, "That's just straight Nightmare Fuel. That's easy stuff."_

_"Ah-ah-ah," Tailgate wagged a finger, holding the bottle behind his back, "Not quite."_

_Whirl narrowed his optic, "What?"_

_"Its subspace filtered!" Tailgate announced, tossing Whirl the bottle._

_"Ah, damn! You got me with a sneaky one, makin' me think it was easy. You're positively devious, you know that?" Whirl poked him with the butt of the bottle and Tailgate beamed, taking a hit of his own shot proudly._

_"I do," Tailgate nodded happily, "I'm gonna miss this."_

_Whirl paused, still holding the bottle. "Oh yeah?" he prompted, hesitantly._

_"Yeah," said Tailgate, "I mean, the Lost Light… if I had my way, this would all go on forever, and we could just keep seeing the universe and going on adventures and all hanging out and everything… I get why they need the engines, I do, but still."_

_"I mean, you can still see the universe and go on adventures," Whirl scoffed, "Don't tell me hornhead wants to settle down already."_

_"No, no!" Tailgate laughed, "He already suggested we go on our own."_

_Whirl stopped. "On your own?"_

_"Yeah, you know, after this," Tailgate waved at the room with a sigh, "Everyone is going their own separate ways, starting new lives… I know I should be really excited, me and my Conjunx- my Conjunx Endura, Whirl! Exploring the universe together, but, I still can't help but be sad." He turned back to Whirl, "You know?"_

_Whirl stared at him, optic searching for something, bottle sinking in one hand down onto the table with a clack, before he responded. "Yeah. I know."_

"Are you running late?" Brainstorm asked over Whirl's comm, right on time. Whirl sighed and took another swig of engex. 

"Nah, I'm out at that park by the house," he said, "I ain't been home yet."

"I'll meet you there!" Brainstorm chirped. 

Whirl swished his bottle again. He wondered where they were, what they were doing. He definitely didn't wonder if they missed him, if they had tried to call him. Those were stupid things to wonder. He knew the answer and the answer was no, they weren't friends, they'd never even really been friends, just people that knew each other, and they didn't miss him. He didn't miss them either. So he didn't wonder that. 

_Whirl lingered by the edges of the group as people left, waiting for Tailgate or Cyclonus to come and tell him goodbye, too proud to approach himself. All the good natured hugging and promises to keep in contact were making his plating crawl. He waited until Cyclonus gave Rodimus a chaste kiss on the cheek and scooped Tailgate into his alt mode to leave._

_He'd spent most of the party thinking about the rust sea, but hadn't seriously considered it until now. He'd completely misunderstood his place in the world, as usual. For a moment, he'd convinced himself he'd figured out how to be around others, how to care about them and make them care about you, too, but it shouldn't surprise him so much to realize that he was just projecting. He wanted something to be there and so he'd seen something, but there had never been anything there. He was what he had always been, Whirl the war-starter, an emp with a gun fetish, a broken clock with neither a face nor hands._

_It was too late for him now. It had probably always been too late. There was no place for him in the world. He was tired of trying to shove himself into spaces that had no room for him, tired of trying to insert himself in other people's lives, other people's relationships. He was damaged. He was broken. He was, beneath all the frilly, poetic, edgy nonsense, traumatized and he knew it. He also knew that feeling better, ever, would take an insurmountable amount of effort, and he really wasn't interested in investing it. It was better to quit now, before he made it worse._

_When he landed on the shore, he realized he wasn't alone._

"You doing alright?" Brainstorm asked, and Whirl looked up at him, miserably. "Oh, yikes, I'll take that as a no." Brainstorm sat down next to him. "What's up?"

Whirl stared at the ground again, clutching the empty engex bottle in his claws tighter. 

"Nothin'," he said, eventually, hoarsely, and stood.

"What?" Brainstorm said, as Whirl turned away, back towards the shops lining the opposite side of the street, "Where are you going?"

Whirl waved the empty bottle of engex before tossing it toward a garbage can and missing.

"Whirl, you don't need anymore-"

"Hey, cyclops, clean that up!" 

Whirl and Brainstorm both stopped, startled, and turned toward the voice. 

"Quark?" Brainstorm said, blinking, motionless.

Whirl stared at the stranger, a pale, thin little man with a dour expression of disgust. He was staring at him, until Brainstorm said his name and he jolted. 

"Pardon?" he said, "Do I know you?" 

"You…" Brainstorm started, voice distant, "We used to know each other, once." 

Whirl stared at Brainstorm, rigid, staring back at what Whirl realized with a jolt was someone he hadn't realized existed until just this moment. This entire Cybertron only existed because of him, this Quark was alive because of him, he was- 

"I doubt it," said Quark, looking Brainstorm up and down like a cube of rust tainted energon, "We wouldn't have been given the same job."

"No, not- I'm from the other Cybertron," Brainstorm shook his head, "I'm sorry, not you, but someone you- would have been, I knew."

"Ah," said Quark, still unimpressed, "Did you, then? What was he, another soldier in your war, then?" 

"No, he was a scientist," said Brainstorm, hands floating in the air in front of him as if he yearned to reach out and hesitated to do so all the same, "I'm a scientist." 

" _You?_ " Quark laughed, lips twitching up into a smile, "What are you, a _jet?"_

Whirl watched Brainstorm's wings droop, plating fold down as if it might protect him from words, hands sink. 

"Hey, he's the smartest son of a glitch our Cybertron ever put out, huh?" Whirl snapped, "Maybe keep the rhetoric to yourself, classlicker." 

"Whirl!" Brainstorm snapped, horrified. 

"You burnt your Cybertron to a husk, didn't you? Don't speak so presumptuously to your betters, _emp_." 

The rest was a blur of movement and friction, noise and static, red-laced imagery and the pulse of his own spark in his audials, and yet one more unanswered ping to Cyclonus, and when Whirl was seeing straight again it was staring at the concrete while an enforcer held him down by the back of the neck and another bound his wrists in stasis cuffs. 

He'd fucked up big time. Like he always did.


	7. Sleeps Unaware of the Clarion Call

Brainstorm was angry.

No, angry didn't even cover it. Brainstorm was _pissed_. 

Six months of living with Whirl, six months of making sure he didn't get himself killed or kill anyone else, six months and the second someone calls him a slur on the street he loses it. Brainstorm had spent most of his life telling people he was forged, giving them full leave to say whatever they wanted about cold constructed bots, especially MTOs. He'd heard everything in the book, every creative insult they'd come up with in the past three million years, and he'd never lost his temper and thrown himself at someone like a wild animal. Sure, he might sabotage their weaponry in their sleep, but he wouldn't just attack them.

Brainstorm grabbed an arc welder from beside his desk, angrily. He was going to make something. Anything. Maybe a gun that fired guns that _also_ fired guns. Anything at all. So much for friendship. So much for Whirl. So much for _Quark._

_Brainstorm wondered if this sour mech knew how to smile at all, or if his face was eternally frozen in an expression of perpetual displeasure._

_"Hello, Genitus," he said, voice dry, "I'm told we'll be working together."_

_"It's Brainstorm, actually," Brainstorm said, "At least, that's what everyone calls me."_

_"I'm not much one for nicknames."_

_"Call me Genitus if you want," Brainstorm smirked, "You'll just have to remind everyone who you're talking about all the time."_

_"Fair enough, Brainstorm."_

His hands stilled on the welder and shook, clutching it to his chest. Had his Quark always thought that way? He'd been so much… milder, when he knew him. Four million year splits tender to sharpen people. It had sharpened _him_. It had sharpened _Whirl_. 

_"Oh, no," Quark laughed, sliding behind him, reaching around his shoulder to grab his slide from his microscope, "You can't use glass plates for these."_

_"Oh, no?" Brainstorm asked, optics on his face but mind on his other hand on his shoulder, radiating warmth, "Why not?"_

_"These wretched things are branded," Quark rolled his optics, "you have to use the proprietary slides or it blurs the focal display. I hate them."_

_"Great," said Brainstorm, a sour taste in his mouth suddenly, "They've given me the bogus equipment, then."_

_"Don't take it too personally," Quark gave him a sympathetic smile, "We have to work with the supplies we have. I'm sure Automia will give you a better lab when you prove you're able to make use of it."_

_"You mean prove I'm as good in the lab as a microscope?"_

_Quark handed him back the glass slide, "I do mean. Come on, why don't you borrow mine, I never use it, obviously."_

Brainstorm shoved the welder onto his desk and laid his head down in his arms. His Quark was gone forever. He'd stopped the war, saved a strange universe from suffering and here he was, able to see him again and suddenly he was a stranger, soft edges sharpened, refined. 

This Quark _hated_ him. 

What a cruel joke. What had he done to Primus to piss him off so much? Not that Primus had formed _him_ , Brainstorm had been built in a wartime factory, mass produced like the weapon he'd be holding on his first deployment. 

Brainstorm checked his comm unit again, waiting for Whirl's communicube call. If he apologized then Brainstorm would go get him, but only if he apologized. Six months of investing in him thrown in his face. The least he could do was say that he was sorry for _this._

Brainstorm pushed himself up and glared at his unfinished communicator in the corner, the face of Whirl's clock glinting innocently at him.

"Cyclonus, you _glitch_ ," he murmured, mostly to himself, "I hope you're _happy_. I hope this is what you _wanted_. Thanks for dumping your all your problems behind you so that someone else would have to pick up the pieces. You better come back now or never at all."

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the unfinished project, but Cyclonus failed to magically appear in his room/lab, so he probably never would. 

Six months. Six _months_ and not a _peep_ from either of them. Brainstorm wasn't sure which was worse, the idea they might be dead or the idea they might legitimately care so little about his new roommate that they wouldn't even _miss_ him. What was their plan? Leave him here and never call so they could continue on with the plausible deniability that they hadn't killed him by never finding out that he was dead?

_"Hey, Quark," Brainstorm said, leaning against the doorframe, trying to play it cool._

_"Hm?"_

_"I just finished packing, so, I'm off to Praxus, and- well, I just wanted to say goodbye."_

_Quark waved at him without looking up, engrossed in his work, "Goodbye, Brainstorm, it's been a delight."_

_"Yeah," said Brainstorm, rubbing his thumb absently on the doorframe, worrying the metal, "I hope we meet again."_

_"Me too," said Quark, but he still didn't look up._

Brainstorm kicked his chair back out from under him and returned to pacing anxiously around the room. No _Quark_ , no _Whirl_ , no _Chromedome_ , no _Rewind_. It was just him, alone in his apartment and he wondered who it was that he really wished was here. 

_Brainstorm laid his head on the desk, clicking one of the tabs of his briefcase with his thumb, open and closed, open and closed. It was impossible. It was crazy. It was potentially suicidal._

_He had only watched the surveillance footage from Grindcore once. That's all he had needed to, for it to sear itself into his mind forever, frame perfect, every detail preserved. Melted down and turned into raw material to make more MTOs. Like him._

_He flicked the tab open and closed, open and closed, lost in thought, lost in fantasy._

It was starting to get late and Whirl still hadn't called, and that was only pissing him off more. What was he waiting for? 

Brainstorm opened his comm and called Chromedome. 

"You're calling late," Chromedome yawned, "Did you blow yourself up again?"

"Whirl's in jail," Brainstorm snapped, still pacing.

"Ah. Well, that's fun, too." 

"He's- he got in a fight," Brainstorm said vaguely, running a hand over his helm.

"Can you not make bail?" Chromedome asked, sounding a bit confused.

"I'm sure it's not bad, but it's-" he hissed through his dentae, frustrated, "I'm waiting for him to call and ask me to come get him and he _hasn't_ yet." 

There was a pause. "Well, I mean, it's Whirl. He never asks for help." 

"Then call and _apologize_ at least!" 

"For getting arrested? He made it six months, that's pretty good, I'd say." 

"You're not being supportive," Brainstorm groused, "You're not supporting my anger."

"I just don't get why you're so upset."

"He- it was- argh," Brainstorm spun and clenched a fist, pinching the bridge of his nasal ridge, before he vented a sigh, "It was _Quark,_ he attacked _Quark_."

"...As in _Quark_ Quark? He's-"

" _Functionist_ universe Quark," Brainstorm shuttered his optics, "I didn't even realize he was… we ran into him in the street and he called Whirl an emp and he just fucking lost it."

"...Hm," Chromedome said, intelligently. 

"He should have gotten a communicube by now. I don't know what he's playing at," Brainstorm leaned back against his desk, "After everything I've done he can't- just call and ask me to bail him out? Can't even call and say he's _sorry_ for attacking fucking _Quark_?"

"...Hm," Chromedome repeated, "That is… kind of weird. What if he doesn't call?" 

"Why wouldn't he call?"

"He told a story when Rung was in a coma where he once held a communicube for _years._ "

Brainstorm hadn't considered that. "I don't know."

"Are you just gonna leave him in jail?"

"I-" Brainstorm thought about it, "No."

"Just go pick him up, if you really want to turn him loose, you can, but don't leave him there. He'll seriously let himself rot before he asks for help." 

Brainstorm ran a hand over his help again. "You're right. Fine, fine. You're right. Whatever. Thanks, CD." 

"No problem," Chromedome paused, "Thanks for calling."

Brainstorm blinked, "Why?"

"Whirl is happy to rot rather than ask for help," Chromedome said, "So are you. Thanks for calling for advice."

Brainstorm ignored the warmth pooling in his chest, something cursed and wonderful and unwanted. "Thanks for picking up," he said, voice strangled, and hung up before he said anything else stupid.

* * *

Brainstorm only had to wait a few minutes after he finished paying Whirl's bail and signing a stack of paperwork before he came stumbling out, looking vaguely disoriented and staring stubbornly at the ground. Brainstorm frowned seeing how Whirl's stabilizers were still crushed from where he got bodyslammed. So much for obligatory medical attention. So much for flying home, too.

"You ready to go?" Brainstorm asked. Whirl nodded, silently, without looking up. Brainstorm held open the door and waited for him to go first. 

"Come on, it's only like two miles," Brainstorm sighed, "We can walk." 

Whirl fell in step behind him until Brainstorm walked so slowly he was forced to walk in front of him, within his line of sight, still silent. They passed under flickering lamplight along the sidewalk trail, the street empty save for the infrequent passing Cube driving in the wee hours. The shadows stretched and skewed ominously, distorting their owns features as they danced and jittered in the shifting light source.

"Nothing to say?" Brainstorm asked, after a few more minutes of silence, "No 'sorry, Brainstorm,' no 'thank you, Brainstorm?'"

"You should have left me, Brainstorm." 

Brainstorm felt his plating flaring without his permission, ruffled and frustrated, "Stop it. Stop self deprecating for five seconds and tell me you're _sorry_."

"I ain't sorry," Whirl rasped, "He deserved to get punched." 

"You're not even sorry for putting _me_ in this position?" Brainstorm snapped, "You're not sorry I had to come bail you out in the middle of the night? You're not sorry you didn't even use your one call?" 

"I did use it," Whirl answered, voice hoarse.

Brainstorm paused. "You didn't call me, though."

Whirl was silent, the sidewalk lonely beneath the stars.

"Who did you call?" Brainstorm asked. 

Whirl's shoulders hiked up and together, plating clinking together as it tightened against his frame.

"Whirl," Brainstorm prodded again, "Who did you call?" 

"Cyclonus," Whirl stopped walking and stood, claws clutched together in front of his body like vices.

"...Did he answer?" Brainstorm asked.

"...Yeah," Whirl said, after a moment, voice thin.

"What?" Brainstorm prompted, "What did he say? Is he coming back?" 

"They're in the Archrox Sector," Whirl told him, "Following some kind of opera troop. He told me all about it and he seemed so… happy. I don't know if I've ever seen him happy, before. Not like that."

"Whirl…" Brainstorm started.

"He had all these plans, about where to go next, and then after that, and none of them were here," Whirl continued, voice shaking, "They aren't coming back. I didn't… I didn't tell him where I was calling from. He didn't ask."

Brainstorm's spark sank, cold and hard and suddenly unable to grasp at the anger he'd been indulging in. "Whirl, I'm… I'm sorry." 

"You can't help me," Whirl said, and Brainstorm didn't miss the tremble in his frame, the way his plating struggled to stay taught, "You should stop trying." 

Brainstorm stepped forward and set a hand on his arm and the trembling ceased. "Nah." 

Whirl turned to look at him, pathetically, and Brainstorm threaded their elbows together, pulling him forward to keep walking. "Fuck him. Fuck them both. Cyclonus doesn't care about you and Quark doesn't care about me. We don't need them."

Whirl fell in step, still staring at the ground.

"Come on, we're bonding over our bad taste in men, here," Brainstorm insisted, "Complain with me."

"Emotionally constipated bastard," Whirl said, eventually, "Broody asshole."

"That's the spirit!" Brainstorm crowed, "Self absorbed pricks, the both of them!" 

"Like babysitting a porcupine," Whirl said, looking up and a little more animated.

"Fuck em!" Brainstorm cheered, throwing his arms in the air, still intertwined with Whirl's.

"Fuck em!" Whirl echoed, mimicking the gesture, and Brainstorm realized that even through Whirl's limited vocalizer range, he could hear him smiling.


	8. Tell Her to Find Me an Acre of Land

When Whirl pulled himself out of recharge his first thought was that his most-of-him hurt and that he really, really should have accepted medical attention when it was offered to him. Flying was off the table until further notice and he was in need of yet another replacement windshield. He sat up and huffed his annoyance to no one, optic falling on his work desk. 

They still weren't _right._ He hadn't made clocks in _millenia._ None of them worked the way he wanted them to. They were all off, by seconds, by minutes, or they desynced eventually, all the little pieces failing to just…. _Work_. Some part of him was screaming that wasn't his fault and that if he would just go take a fucking refresher course maybe he could just _do_ this like he _used_ to.

A much quieter part of him whispered, quietly, in the dark, that if he learned how to make clocks right he'd have to admit nothing was actually stopping him from being a chronosmith again but himself, that what was preventing him from being happy wasn't disability or dysfunction or the Senate or functionism but _personal failing_ , and he really _really_ didn't want to listen to that tiny voice to think about that tiny thought.

He turned away from his desk to look out the window. It was definitely already nearly afternoon. He was _supposed_ to have work today. Or, at least, probably have work, if he hadn't been fired. He still didn't know if he'd been fired. He kneaded his claws together in his lap before he opened his comm and called Ratchet before he talked himself out of it.

"There you are," the old doctor's gruff voice answered, "I was starting to wonder if you got thrown in prison again."

"No," said Whirl, "just jail." 

"Well, that explains why you aren't in today," Ratchet responded, though he didn't sound particularly surprised, "do you need any more time off?"

"Am I not fired, then?"

"Fired?" Now he _did_ sound surprised, "When did you get _fired?_ "

"You told me to go home."

"Because you were upset. I told you to go home so you would stop being upset. If I'm gonna fire you, you'll know I'm firing you."

"Oh," said Whirl, feeling kind of stupid, "Cool. Uh, I guess I'll see you when I get there then?"

"Tomorrow. Take the rest of the day off."

"Okay," Whirl paused, "Uh, and, uh- thanks for the job. In the first place, you know." 

"No need to thank me. You're a harder worker than I expected or I would have cut you loose by now."

Whirl felt a little bubbly about that, because he realized he _believed_ him. "Cool."

"Well, see you tomorrow, Whirl."

"See ya tomorrow, doc."

Whirl cut his comm and watched the hustle and bustle outside for a minute before his tanks reminded him how fucking hungry he was and he stood up.

"Good morning," said someone who wasn't Brainstorm when Whirl opened the door to the living room and he nearly shot them on sight in surprise. Maybe it was a good thing he was low on fuel and hadn't switched off of energon rounds. 

Scratch that, it was definitely a good thing, Chromedome was here. 

"Uh," said Whirl, "Where's Stormy?" 

"Him and Ratchet are down at the courthouse," Chromedome said, setting his datapad in his lap and clicking the screen off, "They're making a case you were provoked to get your sentence reduced to community service." 

"What!" Whirl winced as his stabilizers tried to flutter and couldn't, bent out of shape, "Shouldn't I _be_ there?!"

"No, I kind of agree with Brainstorm you'd only hurt your case."

Whirl fidgeted, trying to decide if that made him angry or not, "Why are _you_ here, then?" 

"Suicide watch," Chromedome said, turning his datapad back on.

"Oh, come on!"

"Company, then," Chromedome amended, "Since you had a rough day."

"Fine," Whirl grumbled, crossing the room to the energon dispenser, "I'll take it."

"Attaboy."

"Shut up."

Whirl trotted to the pit and dropped into it with a thump, leaning over to peer at Chromedome's datapad as rudely as he could. "Whatcha readin'?"

"Did you know this Cybertron's Anode was a war general?" Chromedome said, "I'm reading a biography."

"Neat," Whirl nodded, "Anybody else we know in here?"

"You are," Chromedome responded.

"What!" Whirl grabbed his datapad and began scrolling, "Where??"

"No, dammit, you'll lose my place- you- argh," Chromedome snapped, grabbing it back, "I'll just send it to you! Geez."

"Bold of you to assume I can read," Whirl huffed.

Chromedome scrolled back down in the datapad, trying to find his place again before he paused and looked up. "That's a joke, right? Like, you _can_ read, right?"

Whirl narrowed his optic at him, silent.

"...You can read," Chromedome said after a moment of thought, "You can definitely read. Right. Anyway."

"So I'm in there, huh?" Whirl asked, peering over his shoulder again, "Am I a bad guy?" 

"A good guy, actually. You- _he_ spent a couple years feeding the revolution secrets from the Senate before he went down in a blaze of glory killing Four of Twelve." 

"That's fucking awesome!" Whirl perked up, "Is there- I mean, do I- is there- is Cyclonus there?" 

Chromedome stopped scrolling and stared at him, "Seriously?" 

Whirl's antennae twitched and he blinked, "Yes?"

"Why do you care?"

"Uh- I don't. I was just asking." 

"Do you _seriously_ still _miss_ him?" Chromedome balked. 

Whirl scooted away, uncomfortably, "No." 

"You _do_ ," Chromedome shook his head, "You do! I can't believe it. How could you _miss_ him? He _left_ you."

Whirl flinched, and turned away, suddenly uncomfortable, "I said I _don't_ miss him. I don't miss nobody. I was just curious, is all." 

"I don't understand what you see in that guy," Chromedome lamented, leaning back and kicking his pedes up on the coffee table, "He followed a _warlord._ He doesn't care about anyone but himself. He's an emotionally constipated bastard that didn't even ask you what you were up to after _six months_ of radio silence. Why do you _want_ him to come back here so badly?"

Whirl stared stubbornly at the floor, before he finally drew his arms up over his chest, claws on his forearms. "He's… different. When he's not trying so hard."

"What does that mean?" 

"He's… I mean, you know. He always knows what he's fighting for and why. He gives a shit. Giving a shit is a hard thing to do. I like that about him." 

Chromedome was silent, for a moment, watching him. "He doesn't give a shit about _you,_ Whirl, or he wouldn't have _left_ you."

"He's on his fucking honeymoon, it's not _about_ me."

"He _left_ you!" Chromedome insisted, raising his voice, "He left you and the first thing you did was try to kill yourself, something a _stranger_ realized you would do! Why didn't _he?_ If he cared about you _at all_ why didn't he make sure you would _be here_ when he got back?!"

"I _know_ he doesn't fucking care about me, okay!" Whirl snapped, voice breaking.

Chromedome flinched. Whirl tightened his grip on his arms. 

"I just wish he did," Whirl said, voice hollow. 

"You don't need him," Chromedome said, gently, "Other people care about you."

"That's different."

"Is it?" 

"It is."

"Brainstorm cares about you."

"Brainstorm's not interested in me," Whirl spat. 

"I dunno, he seems pretty interested to me. Have you given it a chance? Have you even thought about it?"

"Yeah, I've _thought_ about it," Whirl snapped, "He's too busy pining over _you_ to get hung up on _me._ " Whirl stared at the floor for another moment before it seemed to belatedly occur to him what it was he had just said and he bolted straight up like he'd been shot. 

"He's _what_?" Chromedome said.

"Hung up on _work_!" Whirl scrambled, "I mean, he's too obsessed with making fuckin' guns that turn people in cucumbers to care about anything else! That's what I meant!"

"No, what? What are you talking about?" Chromedome insisted, poking him in the chest with his datapad and Whirl started to back up, panicking and looking for an escape route.

"Nothing! I didn't fuckin' say _anything_!" Whirl shrieked and tried to clamber over the back of the couch and out of the pit. Chromedome grabbed him by the stabilizers and yanked him back down. "Oh, Primus, come on, just shoot me, everybody knows I'm shit at secrets!" 

"Whirl!" Chromedome yelled, grappling the frantic helicopter as he tried to squirm away, "Elaborate!"

"Hnnn-" Whirl said, intelligently, " _Swear_ you won't tell him I told you!"

"I will do no such thing!"

"Ahhh!" Whirl kneed him in the gut and scrambled out of the pit, crawling away, and Chromedome grabbed him by the ankle.

"Whirl, I'm not- God, just- either you elaborate or I tell him what you just said and tell _him_ to elaborate, and that's ten times as awkward!" 

Whirl went flat on the ground, arms and legs akimbo, ankle still caught. "He's gonna fuckin' kill me. I'm just- he's got it bad, needles, he's out here pining for you and your junxy like a newspark on prom night."

"No he _doesn't,_ " Chromedome scoffed, without letting go, "I've known him for _millions of years_ , if he had a crush on me I would _know_ by now."

"I mean, did you know about Quark?? Or his timecase?? He can keep a secret when he _wants_ to!" Whirl snapped, and yanked his ankle away, "You _can't_ tell him I told you that! He will _kill_ me! He'll throw me on the street for _sure_!" 

"Don't be so dramatic," Chromedome set his faceplate in one hand, thoughtful, "He's never killed anyone before, he's not starting with you. And I know for a fact he can't cover the rent on his own."

"Yes he can, whenever he needs money he just calls Drift and tells him he lost a bet and never paid up."

Chromedome paused. "I'll have to try that sometime."

"I'm serious, _don't_ tell him-" Whirl crawled forward, pleading with his claws, "It'll crush him. He's not trying to fuck up you're relationship, that's on _me_ , just act like nothing's different, _please_ , he only has like two friends and that's you and me and I'm the _worst_."

Chromedome paused and looked up, staring at Whirl. "Holy slag. You actually _care_ about him, don't you? You are, like, _legitimately_ his friend." 

"Uh," Whirl said, "If I say yes, will you be cool about it?"

"I think I'm already cool about it," Chromedome mumbled, sitting back down with a flop, hand on his mask again, "Huh." 

Whirl crawled forward to peek over his shoulder, "What's that mean?"

Chromedome rolled his optical display, "I don't know. It means I don't know." 

Whirl was silent for only a moment, before his stabilizers rose. "Oh my god. You do _like_ him."

"I didn't _say_ that!" Chromedome snapped, "Can I _please_ have like, five minutes to dwell on this revelation before I have to comment on it? Or at least speak to my actual Conjunx about it? Primus."

"You _do!"_ Whirl crowed, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him like a leaf, "Oh, thank God, I'm saved!" 

"God, Whirl, shut _up._ "

* * *

Whirl was on pins and needles the following morning when he returned to work. The loading bay was empty, so they'd finished unpacking everything without him. He wasn't surprised, it _had_ been a rush order for a reason. He tried not to pause every time he opened a door as he looked around for Ratchet or Drift before the clinic opened, and found the both of them out front, sorting patient files. 

He synthesized a cough and they both turned to look at him. "Hey," he said, "I'm, uh. I'm sorry for the other day."

Drift beamed at him, "Forgiven. Welcome back, Whirl."

"And, uh- this is-" Whirl rubbed the back of his helm, awkwardly, "I don't know if I'm gonna be askin' too much with this, but, uh- I wanted to… I wanted to take a refresher course, on making chronos- the internal kind, I- it's been awhile, and I just- I just really need to kind of… I can't just pick it up again without… you know," he finished, lamely. 

The reaction was _immediate_ as Drift stood up and clapped, vaulting the front desk, "Yes! Absolutely! Tuition, time off, whatever you need!"

"Oh, god," Whirl said, mortified, "I didn't expect you to be so cool about that."

"Are you kidding!" Drift laughed, "I thought we'd have to wait another fifty years for you to ask that." 

Whirl couldn't smile, but, hesitantly, he took Drift's offered hand, anyway, squeezing it, the half formed memory of a chirolinguistic _thank you_ echoing in his mind.

"Before that, though," Ratchet chuckled, "How about I take care of _your_ repairs, for old times sake, hm?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah," said Whirl, twitching his buckled stabilizers, "Thanks."


	9. Washes the Grave With Silvery Tears

Brainstorm was mostly satisfied with the results. They'd been pretty sympathetic since Quark _had_ used a slur first, and they were off-worlders. It garnered sympathy. The judge had seemed pretty happy to give him six months of community service and leave it at that. Seeing Quark there again had been strange, though, but freeing, in a way. The more he spoke the less he felt like he knew him, the more he wanted to get away from him. 

Part of Brainstorm worried that Whirl might simply refuse to do it, but he seemed… happy, to get a light sentence for once. Brainstorm was delighted to see his generosity finally get appreciated. The next two months went by smoothly, easily. Whirl started taking one class, two nights a week at the university, which Brainstorm wouldn't have called in a million years, but there he was. The rhythm was easier than he anticipated, grabbing breakfast with Whirl before he went to work, movie nights at Chromedome and Rewind's on Fridays with Drift and Ratchet and Swerve- sometimes Nautica even came by, and that was always a treat. Some days he caught himself not missing the Lost Light at all. 

The day was nice out, sunny mid-afternoon, Whirl's day off, and Brainstorm was fiddling with a project on his desk, a gun that could shoot around corners, when his comm rang.

"Hello hello hello, you've reached Brainstorm's Boomshop, what can I do you for?"

"That's a terrible name," said Chromedome, "Tell me that was off the cuff."

"It was! I can do better."

"You must. I insist. That was awful."

"Well, other than my new attempts at self employment, what precludes your call this fine day?" Brainstorm asked, chewing on a pen and spinning idly in his chair.

"I wanted… to talk to you. We wanted to talk to you. Me and Rewind, I mean. I wanted to know if you were free today to talk in person."

"Oh, yeah, today's fine. What's up?"

"Well," said Chromedome, hesitantly, "Whirl had… an interesting theory-"

"Oh, God, about what?"

"That you had- that you had a _crush_ on me, as he put it."

Brainstorm bit through the pen.

"Oh," he said, "uh…"

"I'm not upset!" Chromedome said quickly, "I just thought we should… talk about it. You know, like adults. And stop going through Whirl."

Brainstorm grabbed a rag from his desk to wipe ink off his chin and laughed nervously, "Yeah, what are we, Tailgate and Cyclonus? Fuck those guys."

"Exactly," said Chromedome, " _They're_ crazy. All that pining! No matter how close we were all to dying. We are _better_ than that. I've known you way too long to just let shit fester."

"Ahah, yeah, um," Brainstorm tittered anxiously, "Like, how dense can you get, right? The way he shut down Tailgate, the way he just left Whirl- you _gotta_ talk about stuff, right? Like, we could all die literally any moment so we should all be on the same page, even if it's super fucking awkward, right? Aha. Ha."

"Cool, you're freaking out. Well, try to do that less, but, like, exactly. I think… I think there was a time when I was worse than he ever was and I could totally just… let people fester and leave them behind. But I'm better than that now, and I'm not doing that anymore."

"Uh… yeah, okay, you're right," Brainstorm said, feeling nervous and bubbly and awkward, "Talk about it. Like adults. Right."

"Storm," Chromedome said, sounding unusually steady, "It's gonna be okay. We've been friends forever, that's not changing now no matter what, okay?" 

"...Okay," Brainstorm agreed, hesitantly, "Do you want to come over now then, eh?"

"Sounds like a plan. See you soon."

"See you soon," Brainstorm said, and waited for the comm to cut to begin pacing anxiously back and forth around the room, hands clasped behind his back. Oh, god, oh god. Well this was certainly _occurring._ Should he… make something? Do something? Should he tell Whirl? He should definitely not tell Whirl. _God_ of _course_ Whirl had blabbed, Whirl was _terrible_ at secrets, this was a _disaster._

Brainstorm stopped and took a deep invent, steadying himself. Okay. It was gonna be okay. Chromedome _said_ it was gonna be okay. So it was gonna be okay!

Brainstorm immediately began pacing again. Whirl was a _bastard_ . But maybe a _good_ bastard, Chromedome wasn't _mad_ , so at least there was that, but oh, Primus, this was going to be _awkward_ as hell- he ran his servos over his helm and groaned. 

He needed a distraction. He needed something to distract him right now so he could calm his nerves until they got here. 

Brainstorm crossed the room back to his desk and plopped down, grabbing the abandoned communicator project from the corner, shaking dust off his hand scribbled notes. The idea was _genius_ , use some simple low level time distortion to calculate the pingback delay from a call and then send the call into the past _far_ _enough_ that it arrived perfectly on time to sync up with the present. It was a clever way to cheat reality and he felt quite proud of himself for it.

By the time he had the prototype rigged to his original notes concept, Chromedome and Rewind _still_ weren't there. He placed the little Super Communicube down on the center of his desk to consider it. He really _should_ wait to test it, but he had never been a particularly _patient_ person. 

He picked up Whirl's clock again and sent out a ping to Nautica on the other side of the planet and waited for it to return, then noted the delay, and set the internal chronometer for the communicube to compensate.

"Aaaaalrighty, then," said Brainstorm, rubbing his hands together deviously, "Let's give you the ol' test run and call Nauts, hm?" 

Brainstorm pressed in the front face of the cube, turning it on.

The following explosion blew out all the windows in the apartment and sent Brainstorm toppling backwards over his chair and onto the floor, chest buckling inwards from the sheer force of the blow as it sent him clattering back against the far wall, knocking all the air from his body. His audials were ringing and distantly he thought he could hear an alarm, somewhere, beneath the energon rushing in his lines.

The door slammed open and blearily, Brainstorm wished Whirl had a mouth, because then maybe he could read his lips, because he definitely couldn't hear him. He looked down at his crumpled chest plate where the metal folded inward and he could _see_ his spark poking out, chamber glass shattered and blue light creeping through the cracks. He reached up, hands hovering above it, fingers trembling, and he realized he had _no idea_ what to do. 

Brainstorm realized he was going to _die._

Whirl grabbed him by the ankle and yanked him forward until he was flat on his back on the floor, clutching at the space over his spark chamber, his only thought _don't let it fall out, don't let it fall out_ , but Whirl pried his shaking hands away with his claws, yelling something that came in bits and bursts. It wasn't until Whirl grabbed his face and turned it toward his optic he managed to parse what it was.

"Brainstorm! _Open up!_ "

Brainstorm did as he was told, without comprehending why, opening was the _opposite_ of what he wanted, that only made it easier to fall _out_ , but again Whirl batted his hands away, and then he did _something_ in there that made Brainstorm cry out in _agony_. Things in there were _not meant to be touched._

Brainstorm squinted at flickers of light as Whirl pried out shards of broken glass, and then ripped out his cockpit windshield and set it on the floor, cutting it down to shape, and then leaned back over his chest. He thought he might have passed out there for a minute, because the next thing that he was aware of was Whirl connecting the cable from his recharge slab directly to his spark chamber, somehow. He grabbed at Whirl's wrists in a daze, trying to ask what he was _doing_ but the words turned to jelly in his vocalizer. 

Whirl sat back, and Brainstorm realized suddenly he was _soaked_ in energon. 

"You," Brainstorm croaked, and Whirl looked up at him, as if waking up from recharge.

"You're so stupid," Whirl wheezed, "You blew yourself up."

Brainstorm let his fingers idly trace the open center of his chest and the cable going into his internals with a wince. 

"Was bad data," he mumbled, "'S measurements… better next time."

Whirl glanced up at his desk and Brainstorm followed his optic, staring at the blown open cube on top of it. Beside it, sitting upright was the clock Whirl had given him. 

"That thing don't work," Whirl said, staring at it, "Was you using that?" 

Brainstorm waved a hand at him weakly, dismissively, "I was measuring… it's just time, the seconds, delay, and stuff…"

He heard shuffling, and then he thought he blacked out again, because when his optics flickered online again, he wasn't in his room/lab anymore, but the hospital in Iacon, covered in wires and cables going to a dozen intriguing little machines he couldn't wait to riddle out. 

"Oh, god, Stormy, are you awake?" a voice asked. Brainstorm turned toward it, confused, and found Chromedome leaping from a chair in the corner. 

"What happened?" Brainstorm asked, rubbing at his optics. 

"You blew yourself up, you _idiot!_ " 

"Ah," Brainstorm responded, "Yeah, that happens sometimes." 

"God, you got _lucky_. Whirl is a crazy son of a glitch, I'll give him that," Chromedome laughed, tittering with relief, "Absolute madmech succeeded untrained at spark surgery for the _second time_."

"Cool," said Brainstorm, taking a glance down at his chest, feeling his tanks roil at the sight of all the cables, and looking away again, "Speaking of, uh… where, uh, where _is_ Whirl?" 

Chromedome paused. 

"CD," said Brainstorm, "Where's Whirl?" 


	10. Between the Salt Water and the Sea Strands

_"So," began Cyclonus, leaning against the wall and watching Tailgate dance with Rewind to the jaunty bop playing over the speakers, "What are your plans?"_

_"Plans for what?" Whirl asked._

_"After this," Cyclonus indicated with a wave of his hand, "After we all leave."_

_Whirl shifted. "Dunno," he said, eventually, "What are yours?"_

_Cyclonus smiled. He was doing that a lot, recently, unabashedly, unashamedly, without reservation. It made Whirl's spark flutter. "Tailgate has seen so little of the universe, and so much of it so far has been bad. There's so many beautiful things to share- so much to see, so much he's missed. It will be a treat to share it with him."_

_Whirl sniffed. "Ain't that positively romantical, huh?"_

_"Positively."_

_Whirl and Cyclonus watched as Rewind spun Tailgate in a circle, giggling madly, drunk and silly and carefree. It made his spark flutter, too, Cyclonus's smiles, Tailgate's laughter._

_"Whirl," Cyclonus said, gently, "Do you have somewhere to be?"_

_Whirl froze._

_He'd not been invited. Not yet, not really. But he could read between the lines. His claws tightened on his forearms, folded across his chest, and for a moment he indulged the fantasy, flitting across the galaxy with Tailgate and Cyclonus, doing sickeningly romantic getaways and exploring all sorts of intriguing alien planets. In his imagination, they went on wild adventures, and he got to see endless Cyclonus smiles, hear endless Tailgate laughter._

_Also, in his fantasy, he hung around in the background, a third wheel that needed grease, while they waited for him, frustrated again by his dawdling._ _He lingered in the distance while they kissed under a waterfall, disgustingly in love, and he waited, a friend dragged along in the background because everyone knew what would happen if they didn't. A charity case. A pity project. Something to tolerate but never desire._

_"Are you kidding?" Whirl laughed, cutting him a sidelong glance, "I got ten comms already waitin' on read tryin' to hire me. Whirl the war starter is a hot commodity on the warless planet, eh? I'm up to my audials in offers already. Thinkin' I might go merc. Never had the chance, but it seems like my style! Whadya think, eh?"_

_Cyclonus turned toward him, optics searching, and it looked like he wanted to say something, before he shifted and said something else. "I think you would be very good at such endeavors. I hope the work is enjoyable." He wasn't smiling._

_"It'll be a blast," Whirl said, firmly, shrugging as his spark broke, "Breaking shit is what I'm good at. Might as well get paid for it."_

_"I'm sure you'd succeed at anything you wanted to do," Cyclonus said, voice softer than Whirl's, optics turned away, "You're more skilled than you give yourself credit for."_

_The song faded out overhead, and something softer began playing. Rewind and Tailgate stumbled to a stop, steadying themselves on their feet before Rewind skipped away to his Conjunx and Tailgate turned toward them, visor bright._

_"Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme," the song began, haunting and somber._

_"Ah, quit talkin' me up," Whirl laughed, hollow, "The love of your life is waitin' for you while you're bummin' it on the sidelines with me."_

_Cyclonus leaned away from the wall, and then hesitated. Whirl put a claw on his back and shoved him forward, stumbling._

_"Go on, then, you big lug," Whirl snorted, and Cyclonus rolled his optics, before he left him, crossing the floor to scoop his tiny partner in his arms to dance, holding him close, optics closed. "You got better folk than me that need you," Whirl murmured to himself._

_"Remember me to one who lives there," the speakers sang sweetly, "She once was a true love of mine."_

* * *

Whirl stood alone in his apartment. The energon was finally drying on his plating, and the silence in the room was beginning to choke him like a wire around his throat. He realized, belatedly, this was the first time he had been alone in the apartment. He knew Brainstorm had been keeping him in kind of a tight leash, but he hadn't really realized until just this moment precisely how much. 

He wondered how much effort it took to keep such a close eye on him. He had to be constantly bugging Chromedome or Rewind to come over when he wouldn't be here. Wasn't Brainstorm supposed to be spontaneous? Where had that gone? 

He wandered back into Brainstorm's room/lab to survey the damage. The windows were still blown out and the wind was miserably loud in here. The room was a complete wreck, experiments scattered like debris in a warzone, furniture tossed wild, energon and scorchmarks across the floor. 

He started by doing his best to pick up what hadn't been actively destroyed. All of those beakers Brainstorm was so obsessed with were ruined, shattered glass was everywhere. He cleaned it up and threw it away. By the time he was done the room was still a fucking wreck. Even picking up anything intact, mopping the floor clean and tossing out all the broken glass couldn't hide the chaos. The damage had been done and the room would never be the same. 

Whirl stood in the doorway and listened to the sound of traffic outside, the rush of wind through the burst windows and regarded the setting sun in the dim twilight. He activated his comm.

"Whirl," said Rewind, "He's still out."

"Right," said Whirl, distantly, "How's he doing?" 

"The doctor said it's still too soon to say," Rewind's voice was heavy, laced with static, "Are you coming?" 

"I don't do hospitals unless I'm dyin'," Whirl mumbled, noncommittally, "How's your junxy doin'?"

"Honestly? He's a mess," Rewind lamented, "Stormy's blown up a few times before but he's never gone full Wheeljack."

"Right," said Whirl, "Keep me updated."

"Will do," Rewind paused, "And Whirl?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Don't do anything stupid," Rewind said, voice earnest, imploring. 

Whirl cut his comm. 

He'd wrecked _everything._

He hadn't even been trying. For once, he had stopped trying to ruin everything and had tried to make it work. He'd stopped running away, he'd stopped pushing people away on purpose, stopped fighting. He was really, really trying. 

He moved through the room as if in a dream until he was standing in front of Brainstorm's desk again, and picked up the clock he'd made. Still ticking, but when he timed it against his internal chronometer, it was fast. Just a few milliseconds, but enough to add up with each tick. It wasn't broken; it had never worked in the first place.

He had been a fool to think this could ever work. He wasn't like these people. He wasn't like Brainstorm, whose chaos had always been tolerated because he was a genius who could contribute to the lives of those around him in a meaningful way. He wasn't like Chromedome, who'd committed to his long and difficult recovery because he wanted it badly enough. He wasn't like Drift or Ratchet or Rewind or any of the other people he had tricked into tolerating him in the last eight months. 

He was _Whirl_. He was not broken; he had never worked correctly in the first place. There would be no fixing him. He was wasting his time, and everyone else's. It didn't matter how hard he tried to make things work, somehow, some way, something he did would find a way to wreck and ruin everything, like a disease. He set the clock back down on the desk. Brainstorm had been a fool to trust something that had come from him. 

The note was short and sweet and to the point. 

_Thanks for trying. Nobody else ever has. You did your best._

He folded the note and set the clock on top of it, and then slipped out the open window and into the dusk air. Energon was still crusted onto his armour and eventually someone would notice he was gone.

For now, it was night, the skies were clear, and no one was looking for him yet. A perfect evening for flying.

He let the air currents take him where they would for a few blissful hours and didn't stop until he was so far out away from the city that he couldn't see anything in any direction other than sprawling, lifeless desert. He realized, belatedly, he was over the Miteous Plateau, and checked and rechecked his coordinates against his memory banks a few times, before landing with a thump in a familiar spot, testing the ground with his pedes. He didn't fall through, and he didn't see a hole. 

He double checked he was on energon rounds and fired at the ground until it collapsed and gave way to the honeycomb caverns beneath, and he dropped down into the darkness. 

Empty. Whirl's spark sank like a stone. He didn't know what he had been expecting. A secret spare Tailgate waiting for him, Deus ex Machina style? Of course he had gotten out already, even in this twisted otherworld. He wondered if he was still alive somewhere. He wondered if he was happy. 

Whirl sat down and leaned against the wall, staring upward at the entrance he'd made to the sky and the dim, twinkling stars beyond. He'd spent six million years in this hole, alone, hoping someone would find him. Or, a similar one, Primus only knew what happened to _this_ Tailgate. _His_ Tailgate had spent six million years waiting.

Well. Not _his_ Tailgate.

 _Whirl wasn't sure what he was feeling. It was utterly paradoxical- a strange mix of euphoria-relief-joy and grief-regret-jealousy he couldn't parse or comprehend. On the one hand Tailgate was_ real _, he was_ alive, _where the rest of the hologram had vanished and their group awoken from their lotus eater dreams to the unfortunate reality they knew, Tailgate remained. Even still Cyclonus clung to him like the universe might change its mind at any moment and set him adrift again._

_If it did, Whirl would catch him. He'd been hovering around Cyclonus since they left Necroworld, anxious. He could see it on him like he saw it in the mirror, the yearning to stop, and he knew no one else was going to do a goddamn thing about it._

_Whirl was loathe to admit he had feelings, but he liked Cyclonus. He liked Cyclonus a lot. He'd been ready to go through the motions of dragging him around and forcing him to keep going until he learned how to feel again, because he would. He wasn't like Whirl. He was the kind of person who got better, eventually. He was worth fighting for._

_It wouldn't be Whirl fighting for him, though. Cyclonus had picked his Conjunx and he was happy with him. They clung to each other like puzzle pieces slotted together in perfect harmony and did not look his way, and he knew then, like he had always known, that the world had been made without a place for him in it, and every time he tried to force himself in, all he did was carve up someone else's._

_Whirl was glad this wasn't really the afterlife. There was still some hope death would bring peaceful oblivion, after all._

Whirl was never going to get better. He was never going to be _right_. He was _bad_ , at his core. Made wrong. He had been stupid to convince himself that Brainstorm should care about him, that _Cyclonus_ should care about him, that _anyone_ should, when he made it so miserable to try. There was no place for him in this world or any other and he had been wasting everyone's time trying to deny that. 

If he was lucky the plateau would collapse over him and bury him forever. If he was unlucky, and he usually was, he would have to fuck himself up on his own terms. 

The first time his comm rang he ignored it and blocked the caller. The second time he ignored it again, and tried to block the caller, when he realized he already _had_. The third time he answered. 

"Ha! Block me again, asshole, I dare you," Brainstorm coughed on the other end of the line, "Auto-rotating personal frequency."

"Clever," said Whirl, "Should have figured you wouldn't let me pull that twice." 

"Precisely," Brainstorm wheezed, "Now what is this _thanks for trying_ slag, huh? Where have you run off to to mope, huh?" 

"I don't need talking down."

"Oh, no? How come you're-"

"Brainstorm," Whirl stopped him, voice soft but resigned, "It's too late."

"It is _not_ ," Brainstorm snapped, "Don't be so dramatic, you don't- where are you, Chromedome will come get you."

"I'm done," Whirl said, looking up through the hole in the top of the cavern and the way dawn was beginning to tint the sky pink, "I gave it my best shot and it wasn't enough. I mean, seriously, nobody's ever invested so much effort in me before. It was," he paused, searching for the words, "Nice." 

"You didn't even _do_ anything!" Brainstorm implored, "It was _me_ that buggered things! I'll be _fine_!" 

Whirl waited for his coughing fit to finish before he spoke again.

"I can't do it anymore," Whirl said, fighting the tremble that was creeping into his voice, "I keep fucking things up, even just a little at a time and I know, I _know_ I'm always going to. I'm never going to be _like_ you. I'm never gonna get better enough to be _right_. Every time shit like this happens it eats me inside out. I can't stand it. You, you and CD and Rewind and Drift and Ratch, you all keep _trying_ to help me and you _can't."_

"Whirl…"

"You have to _stop._ I want to let you help me. I _tried_ to let you help me and here I am, _yet again_. I can't be helped and every time I forget that and have to relearn it it _kills_ me a little bit more. I can't bear it anymore, Storm. I swear, if I _could_ \- if I was _physically capable_ of getting any better, I- I _would._ But I _can't._ "

"That's bullshit," Brainstorm rasped, coughing, like every word was a fight to get out, "You're not thinking clearly. It's been _eight months_ , Whirl, you don't have to be _better_ , yet! You're not on a _time limit_ , I'm not sick of you, we're _friends._ " 

"We aren't friends," Whirl murmured, "You just don't want my life on your conscience. And I get that. It don't need to be. You did your best. It just wasn't ever gonna work." 

"Shut up! Shut _up_ , Whirl!" Brainstorm snapped, hacking, "I _like_ you, idiot! I would have pawned you off on Drift and Ratchet by now if I didn't! You can't run me off with your self-destructive bullshit, I've put up with Chromedome for _three million years_ , I am _more stubborn than you are_ and you _will not beat me!_ Stop acting like you're the only one fucked up and miserable, we're all fucked up and we're all miserable and you aren't _alone_ in that, you aren't _different!_ " He coughed, wet and painful sounding, before he fought himself to continue, voice breaking, "Whirl, come _home_."

The word cleaved through Whirl's spark like a Great Sword, leaving him aching and open, pulling his limbs in tighter to his chest as if he might be able to stem the bleeding. He'd only ever called two places home in his life; his watchshop and the Lost Light, and he'd already lost both of them. 

"Fuck you," Whirl spat, "I have no home."

He closed his comm and when another call cut through his frequency block, he ducked his head and dug a claw into the receiver until it was mangled and useless, and then he sat back, head against the cavern wall, and relished the silence. 

Well.

This was it, then.


	11. And Polishes a Gun

Brainstorm slammed a fist down on his thigh, furious, and unable to get his words through his retching, fighting his wicked body for control. 

"Dammit!" he sputtered, unable to contain himself, "God _dammit_!"

"What?" Chromedome asked, leaning forward over the bedframe railing, "Where is he?"

"He hung up!" Brainstorm spat, burying his face in his hands, "That's it. I fucked it up, I said the wrong thing, I didn't- I couldn't talk him down, he's-"

"Call him back!" Chromedome insisted, "Your rotating frequency thing!"

"His receiver is offline. He must have _disabled_ it."

"It's in his _head_!" Chromedome said, horrified.

"I _know_ that," Brainstorm clenched his fingers over his forehead, "He's serious and I couldn't talk him down. God _dammit_ , god _fucking_ dammit."

Chromedome tightened his grip on the rail for a moment, shoulders hiking, before he stood up, and pressed two fingers to his audial.

"Rewind, he's not coming back there. Come stay with Brainstorm." A pause. "No, I'm going to get him myself." Another pause. "Yeah. I will. Love you, too." He hung up.

"I literally don't have a clue where he is or what he's thinking of doing," Brainstorm rasped, "What are you thinking?"

Chromedome held up one finger, indicating he needed a moment, making another call. His expression was hard, serious, unhappy. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know. No. No. Yes. No, I need you to do something for me. Yes, you do. No. No! It's Whirl. No, _he's_ the one in danger," Chromedome set one hand on his hip, looking yet more upset, "Just do it, Prowl. He's a suicide risk and we don't know where he is. Do your fucking job for once in your life, will you? Like, your actual on paper job? Sure, fine, whatever. Meet you there." He hung up and turned back to Brainstorm. "I'll bring him back. Don't worry. And don't-" Chromedome paused, and then leaned forward and offered Brainstorm a hand. He took it, hesitant, before Chromedome pulled him into an uncharacteristic hug, "Don't cut out on me, okay? I need you."

"I won't," said Brainstorm, blinking, caught off guard. Chromedome pulled away and rose, leaving the room as he touched his audial again to make another call.

Brainstorm flexed his hand, as if he were feeling it again for the first time. That had been unexpected. 

Brainstorm had known Chromedome a _very_ long time. Pretty much his entire life, in fact. Chromedome was a hopeless romantic, but not exactly the touchy feely type. He clung to his Conjunxes like lifelines, but no one else. Brainstorm had made a fairly active effort to respect his personal bubble the time they'd known each other, even if he was more of the tactile type himself. They didn't really do things like that. Not even after one of them got blown up.

He ran his fingers together against his palm thoughtfully, folding them into a loose fist and setting his hand back in his lap. He didn't dare dwell on any implications there might be in that. He had known Chromedome a _very long time_ , and their relationship was unlikely to change its form now. 

Brainstorm wasn't ready to lose Whirl yet. He hadn't _liked_ Whirl eight months ago when he'd first followed him to the rust sea, but the mech had grown on him despite himself, spontaneous and erratic and bizarre, he was always unpredictable and exciting. Time had dulled the edges of irritation for some of his more inconvenient habits and exposed their root causes, and with understanding those came empathy, with empathy came endearment. Brainstorm very dearly did not want to lose his new friend yet, even if it meant another three million years of dragging him around by his ankles. 

" _Cyclonus_ , you self centered prick," he hissed to the empty room, "You better hope I never see your face again."

Brainstorm closed his eyes and started mentally sketching out concepts for a tracker he could super glue to his stupid idiot roommate's back the next time he saw him.

* * *

_Brainstorm stood in the hallway outside of Swerve's, uncertainly. This wasn't like him. If there was ever one thing he was sure of, it was himself. Hesitating was not his modus operandi._

_He didn't reach for the door._

_The last time he'd been in this room he'd poisoned everyone. Swerve, technically, hadn't told him not to come back, which was basically an invitation to do so, probably the best he was going to get. It would be rude not to accept._

_He didn't reach for the door._

_Brainstorm wasn't even sure what it was stopping him. Whose judgement did he even care about? None of these people had ever liked or respected him to begin with. Boohoo, he was technically a Decepticon, as if everyone didn't play a round of never-have-I-ever with war crimes on Tuesday nights. Well, maybe Tailgate didn't. And Megatron wasn't allowed to play anymore. And Rodimus always cheated._

_Even still._

_His hand floated in front of him, to the door, before he cursed beneath his breath and crumbled his fingers into a fist, yanking it back. He began to turn away when someone grabbed his shoulders and startled him from his thoughts._

_"Come on, you look like you need a drink," Chromedome said, a smile in his voice, and tugged him forward. His feet moved without him telling them to, and the doors slid open. He expected a hush to fall and everyone to stare, but life went on as usual, unfettered._

_"Didn't you poison everyone like a week ago?" yelled Whirl, though no one else seemed to care._

_"Cycle 433, Praxus," Rewind yelled back at him, on his other side._

_"Nevermind, shutting up now," Whirl snapped, sinking back down into his booth with Tailgate and Cyclonus._

_"Come on," said Chromedome, pushing him toward an empty booth, "Let's get smashed like I just finished my fiftieth autopsy of the week and you got yelled at for blowing up the lab again, huh?"_

_"Yeah," said Brainstorm, smiling behind his faceplate._

* * *

Brainstorm woke up when the door opened, blinking his optics, visual feed fuzzy and distorted with recharge haze, confused that he'd passed out at all. He hadn't even noticed. 

"Hey," said a voice, and Brainstorm looked up, squinting, trying to focus, "I'm here."

Rewind dragged a chair over from the wall and used it to climb onto the medical berth and sit next to him, visor flickering in concern. 

"Hey," Brainstorm croaked, "I think I passed out again."

"The doctor said something about a throttled recharge rate," Rewind told him, "They said your spark isn't holding charge on its own."

"Well," Brainstorm said, "shit."

"Yeah." 

"Maybe I can… hm," Brainstorm leaned back, shifting awkwardly around the torrent of cables that disappeared into his chest plating, "Maybe I can make a more efficient recharge chamber, or something."

"If anybody can come up with something, it's you," Rewind said, earnest. Brainstorm twitched, looking back up at him.

"You think so?" 

"Of course I do. You're a genius, Stormy."

Brainstorm's wings set back, docking position, clicking into place without his permission, heat pooling behind his face plate. "Oh," he said, awkwardly, "Thanks."

Brainstorm thought he might be an expert on reading the faces of mechs with mouthplate-visor combos. Rewind's expression softened and his shoulders moved back. "We were supposed to talk before you almost died."

"Ah," Brainstorm said awkwardly, nodding, "Right. That." He sighed and rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand, optics darting away. "Listen. You know what Whirl is like. He's dramatic. I've known Chromedome _forever_ , through _four_ conjunxes, I'm not out to get in between the two of you. I'm no homewrecker."

"You're a real pessimist sometimes, you know that?" Rewind tilted his head at him, the light reflecting curiously across the curve of his visor, "I was going to say that we spent a lot of time talking about it, and…" he shifted his position so he was leaning forward, "You haven't _just_ known Domey forever, you've known _me_ nearly as long- and when I thought about it? Like, really thought about it- those years before Kimia when you weren't there, those were- we missed you. The dynamic was different."

Brainstorm's vents hitched in his chest, fans stuttering. "That's… you don't have to say what you're going to. I'm not going anywhere. Chromedome is my friend no matter what and I don't need locking down."

Rewind laughed, "God, you and Domey are such defeatists! I'm not- don't be dumb. I know that. That's not what it's about." His visor brightened, "It's that when I actually thought about it? I realized- _we_ realized that you're already _in_ the dynamic, you're already a _part_ of things. That's- that's what I think, that's what we think. But I still want to know what _you_ think! You don't _have_ to do anything, or-" 

"What are you- are you asking me- do you mean to say-" Brainstorm stammered, grappling with hope and with pragmatism, cold terrified to dare but wanting it _so badly_ at the same time. 

"I _mean to say_ , do you _want_ to be with us? Polyamorously, I mean. Is that too much?"

"Are you kidding!" Brainstorm burst, then ducked forward, wheezing at the force of it, "That's- it- that's not _too much_ , that's basically- am I still in a coma? Are you serious?" 

Rewind laughed at him again and scooted forward on the berth until he could reach up and put a hand on Brainstorm's cheek, touch tender. "Yeah." He paused. "To the second one. You're not in a coma."

Brainstorm leaned into the touch like he was starved of it, shuttering his optics and memorizing the feeling, hands hovering in front of his chest like he had no idea what to do with them, terrified to reach out and terrified to let go. 

"Can I kiss you?" Rewind asked, and Brainstorm made a sound one might have generously onomatopoeized as an 'eep.'

"Okay, eep is a sound, but not a 'yes,'" Rewind snorted, and Brainstorm rallied, embarrassed, shaking his head up and down and swallowing thickly. "Close enough." 

Rewind leaned forward, and Brainstorm completely lost his composure, hands snapping up to grab Rewind by the sides of his his and mash their faces together, lips pressed needily against his faceplate, seeking silent confirmation and getting it. Optics scrunched shut, spark thrumming in his chest, Rewind's laughter reverberating through his frame, he got it.


	12. Tell Her to Reap it With a Sickle of Leather

Whirl stood up on shaky limbs in the darkness, and heaved a sigh, ignoring the thin dribble of energon dripping down the side of his head. His options were fairly limited. He'd thoroughly burned his bridges. 

He'd cut the cord and his comm unit and he'd told the only person who was willing to pull him back from the edge to fuck off and now there was no one left to do it. He had to actually go through with it this time or he would have to admit something _other_ than circumstance was keeping him from finishing the job. Hope? Fear? 

He looked down through the dark honeycomb caverns to the left and the right of where he was now and wondered where he might end up if he just walked into the shadows. He probably wouldn't just vanish, as poetic as that sounded, he'd just wander around in a cave for a while and it would be massively inconvenient. He didn't need to be fancy. He knew how to do it. He knew how to soft terminate and he _had_ a backup grenade in his cockpit. It wasn't like he was limited in options for _that._

And yet he hesitated anyway. 

He'd pulled the trigger before. Only the once, in Mauler Territory, he'd gone to sleep knowing he wouldn't wake up again- but he hadn't _wanted_ to die, then. He had been _willing_ to die, but…

He paced back and forth, pedesteps echoing hollowly off the walls. He'd _pushed_. No one wanted him alive. Why couldn't he just… _commit_ ? Whirl was not a _coward._ This was an infuriating problem to have. 

He gauged the exit for a moment before transforming and hovering out, alt-mode wobbling carefully through the exit before he checked his GPS and oriented back towards Iacon.

Maybe he _had_ changed. He wasn't totally sure when, but something definitely felt different. After the Lost Light finished it's quest, maybe? Before? He mulled over a memory of being held hostage by Fort Max in the early days, where he had practically begged the guy to kill him and he wouldn't do it. He'd told him that the right thing to do, for PTSD-ridden monsters like them who would never adjust to post-war civility, was to kill himself. 

The sky tinted pale blue overhead as the sun rose and the stars blinked out. He wasn't sure he still thought it was the right thing to do. Fort Max had gotten better, anyway. Whirl hadn't seen him in ages, but he had heard about him, how he'd moved on from working with domesticated Transformers to working with actual Cybertronian animals. Chromedome said he’d kicked Prowl, which was funny, and that he had let him live, which was less funny, and kind of put a pit in Whirl's stomach that _Fort Max had gotten better_ and he _hadn't._

Whirl wasn't sure what better looked like for him. The idea seemed so intangible, like trying to grab smoke in his claws. He couldn’t picture it, couldn’t force his mind to hold the image long enough to grasp it, even hypothetically. 

He landed before he hit the no-fly zone, ambling through the loose early morning crowdfare. Post-war newsparks on their way to meet their mentors, shop owners tidying up front-facing displays, tired-looking night-shifters making their way home. Strangers, all, in more ways than one. He wondered what life had been like on this Cybertron, the one he'd failed to prevent from occurring in the first place. None of these people would even exist if he'd had his way. Would that have been murder? Genocide? That was like the one thing you couldn't pin him with and now he wasn't even confident about _that_ anymore, uncertain if he regretted saving Megatron or not, after all.

He waited patiently at a stoplight, eyeing the spacebridge port a few blocks away. He was feeling wistful, morose. Rust sea it was. A quick jaunt over to Polyhex, and that would be that. A nice, indulgent ending he'd been dreaming of since he lost his shop. 

Someone tapped him on the shoulder just as the light changed and he turned in surprise. There was a stranger staring up at him behind one tall red optic, some kind of blue and orange plated jet or something, by the looks of it, with a big circular indentation in his chest.

"Uh," Whirl said, "Can I help you?"

"The opposite, actually," said the stranger, "Can _I_ help _you_?"

"With what?"

"With anything. Are you alright?" 

Whirl blinked at him in confusion for a moment, trying to process the bizarre interaction, "What?" 

"Are you having a bad day, maybe?" the stranger pressed again.

"Why would you ask that?"

"I work for Iacon social services," said the stranger, "Is your name Whirl?" 

"Oh," said Whirl, "Uh. If I say yes, are you going to arrest me for something?"

"No."

"Then… yes?" he said, awkwardly.

The stranger's one large optic flickered, "Good! I'm so glad I found you, then. Whirl, can I help you with anything today?"

"No," said Whirl, feeling a little uncomfortable suddenly, "I don't get this. This is weird. What is this? Who are you?" 

"I work for Iacon social services," the mech repeated, "in crisis intervention."

"Oh," Whirl snapped, narrowing his optic, " _great_."

"It's okay!" The stranger said quickly, raising his claws in a placating manner, "It's nothing to be embarrassed about. People are worried about you, Whirl. Why don't you let me help you, huh?" 

"I don't want your help," Whirl shrugged, and checked the light was still changed, stepping off the curb to cross the street, "Tell whoever's got an APB on me to quit it, I ain't done nothin'."

He heard footsteps behind him and knew he was being followed, to his irritation. "Well, that's what we both want!" The mech said, voice chipper, "No one wants you to do anything, especially anything you don't want to. I’m not a cop and you're not under arrest. I'd just like to talk about what's on your mind." 

"Yeah, I know that game," Whirl said, ignoring his little hitchhiker, "You get me to admit to bein' a danger to myself or others and then you get me dead to rights. I ain't stupid."

"Not at all! Trust me, I'm on _your_ side. I spent a lot of time when I was younger on the wrong side of the law, too. I know what it's like. No tricks, no games, no ulterior motives. The honest truth is _just_ that your name went up to keep an eye out for _because_ there's concern you're a danger to yourself, which is _why_ someone called _me_. And I'm just here to talk to you."

"To talk me down, you mean."

"Do you not want to be talked down?"

"No," said Whirl, stopping at another street light, "I hate being talked down." 

"Do you get talked down often?"

"Often enough."

"Why is that? Do you struggle with mentalities that others think you need talking down from often?"

Whirl side-eyed him dubiously, "You must not know me very well." 

"I know you're from the other Cybertron," said the mech, "I'm from this one. I don't know anything about you, Whirl. Why don't you tell me something about yourself?"

"I'm a violence obsessed megalomaniac with a death wish and no regards for the well being of others," said Whirl, dryly, "I've seen my file."

"That sounds like a poorly written psychiatric assessment to me," the mech's optic dimmed, "Either the result of your own projection or substandard quality of care."

"Uh… yeah," said Whirl, uncomfortable again. The light changed and he resumed walking, less angrily this time.

"Do you _have_ access to mental healthcare, Whirl? When was the last time you saw a therapist?" 

Whirl picked his brain, and found the memory foggy, uncertain. "I dunno. A while?"

"I can help you find a new one, if you want. Do you live in Iacon? We have financial assistance, if you need it."

"I don't need that," Whirl mumbled.

"What _do_ you need, Whirl?" asked the empuratee, "Let's come up with a game plan. I know it might feel like you're out of options, but I want you to know there's _always_ something you haven't thought of. We can figure out what that is together."

Whirl stopped, turned, stared at him, this earnest stranger from Iacon Social Services in crisis intervention. Looking at him again, _really_ looking at him, there was something… familiar about him, something that tugged at his processor, nagging and uncomfortable.

"Who are you?" Whirl asked. 

"I told you, I work for Iacon Social Services," he said, patiently, "My name is Kroma."

No sooner had the words left his vocalizer than Whirl activated his chest mounted artillery and fired at him. 

"Fuck!" Whirl swore, stumbling backward, as horrified realization washed over him, "Shit, Primus, I didn't mean to-" 

"Hey!" someone yelled behind him, and Whirl's first instinct was to bolt, but his first instincts these days were _pretty_ bad and he was _not_ wont to act on them. Kroma rolled over, clutching at where he'd been shot in the gut with a groan. Whirl hesitated a moment more, and wondered if he would be fast enough to dodge planet security and get off-world before they threw him back in prison. 

"Move your hands," Whirl said, dropping onto his knees and rolling Kroma onto his back, "I need to- shit, I'm sorry, I need to cauterize your primary fuel line-" Whirl popped his cockpit open and dug around for a minitorch, thankful he'd been taking those classes after all. "I'm sorry, fuck-"

"It's fine- it- it happens-" Kroma stammered, looking distinctly _not_ fine. Whirl leaned in and peeled back blasted plating, pinching off shredded lines before he could bleed to death and flipped on the torch.

"Get off of him!" someone yelled, grabbing at his shoulder. Whirl shook them off, trying to focus, and when he sat back, relieved and confident his would-be saviour was no longer in danger of immediate shutdown, _someone_ had to go and _taze_ him.

* * *

Whirl kicked his pedes back and forth in his holding cell, bored. This wasn't exactly how he'd been planning to spend his day, but at least it could have been worse. He was trying to think of something appropriately funny to carve into the bench when he heard footsteps approaching down the corridor and looked up. 

"What do _you_ want?” he groaned.

“You’re going home,” Prowl told him, making a face like he _really_ didn’t want to be here.

“Bullshit,” Whirl snapped, “I’ve only been here, like, three hours. I shot a guy.”

“He’s not pressing charges,” Prowl said, unlocking the gate to his cell and pulling it open, “You’re getting slapped with discharging a firearm in a public place. With internal weaponry? That’s barely a misdemeanor.” 

Pedesteps echoed down the hall. “Tell Chromedome to fuck off,” Whirl snapped.

“Tell him yourself,” Prowl shrugged, and turned to leave. Whirl wished he could scowl, and began preparing his big “fuck off” speech for Chromedome, when Brainstorm walked into his field of vision, trailed by a whole bouquet of wires from his sparkchamber that went to a big, bulky machine on squeaky wheels that Chromedome and Rewind were pushing behind him. The words died in his vocalizer.

The moment hung heavy, stretched long like years between them until it hurt. “You’re out of the hospital,” said Whirl, awkwardly.

“I made a battery,” Brainstorm said, gesturing at the huge metal cube behind him, “It only took an hour and a half.”

“Ah,” said Whirl, “A whole hour a half?”

“I would have had it done in under an hour, but I was distracted.”

Whirl stared at him for another moment, before he shook his head and turned away, kicking his feet up on the bench. “I meant what I said. Leave me alone.”

“No,” said Brainstorm, “I’m not going to leave you alone. I don’t care how many times you run off. I’m not going to stop coming to get you.”

“That’s stupid,” Whirl spat, refusing to look at him.

“I’m the smartest person you’ve ever met,” Brainstorm folded his arms.

“You’re being real dumb for a smart person, then. You’re wasting your time.”

“Whirl,” said Brainstorm, “we won’t leave you.”

Whirl twitched, tightening his shoulders and spun, putting his pedes on the ground and staring at the floor, searching for words. “You can’t say that,” he said, finally, “Even if you mean it now, you can’t know you won’t.”

“Fine,” said Brainstorm, and pulled out the bundle of wires from his chest. Whirl snapped his head up.

“What the fuck are you _doing?_ ” Whirl cried, startled.

“Primus, Stormy, don’t-” Chromedome started, but Brainstorm waved at him.

“Come here, idiot,” he said, waving at Whirl, who stood up and crossed the cell quickly, antennae flattened against his head. Brainstorm grabbed his claw in the hand that wasn’t holding his lifeline, the blue light of his spark glinting off the back of his fingers, “I bid you stand in the light of my-”

“Hey!” Whirl snatched his claw back, “You can’t just- you can’t just _do_ that!”

Brainstorm wobbled a bit, “Okay, this argument is gonna have to be a quick one, is this ‘don’t finish that thought because I don’t want to’ or ‘don’t finish that thought because I don’t think _you_ want to?’”

“It’s-” Whirl drew his claws back against his chest, alarmed, then reached forward to steady him before he fell over, “No, I- I want to.”

“Then there’s nothing to argue about, dummy,” Brainstorm grabbed his claw again, “ _Ahem_. I bid you stand in the glow of my spark that you may feel the heat of my words and know them to be true. I invite you to receive my light and in so doing become my amica endura- from now until forever. As you are to me, may I be to you- today, tomorrow, and always.”

“Today, tomorrow, and always,” Whirl repeated, and then grabbed Brainstorm’s other hand and forced him to plug himself back in, “Now please stop dying.” 

“Okay, no promises,” Brainstorm said, wobbling again, and Whirl groaned, picking him up like a sparkling.

“Congrats,” said Rewind, “You’re really getting around today, Stormy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Whirl snorted, and Chromedome grabbed the battery to wheel it back the way they’d come.

“Oh,” said Brainstorm, wiggling to get comfy like he owned the place, “Your matchmaking thing worked again.”

“My matchmaking th- oh! Ohhh, oh!” Whirl perked up, winglets fluttering, “Well fuck me running then, if I’d known having a suicidal meltdown would have done _that_ I would have had one earlier!”

“You _did_ ,” Chromedome muttered, “You’ve had, like, _four_.”

“Fair enough,” Whirl conceded, but he sounded significantly better, “well, maybe that’s the last one.”

“Probably not,” said Chromedome, “But that’s okay. We’ll come get you next time, too.”

Whirl’s winglets fluttered again, and he adjusted his grip on his passenger, “Okay. Thank you.”


	13. Blazing in Scarlet Battalions

Brainstorm found his new encumbrance infuriating. Locked either to a battery the size of a washing machine or plugged into his recharge slab, even _with_ his extended cabling, navigating his own home became a nuisance. He kept getting wrapped around table legs. Even still, it wasn't a death sentence, and every few weeks, between projects, he'd upgrade his battery, make it smaller, more efficient. He was getting there, slowly but steadily. Part of him thought he might have made more progress, if his fifteen hour marathon lab tests didn't keep getting interrupted by his roommate constantly reminding him to go to bed, to refuel, to manage his recharge schedule. Secretly he was delighted by the coddling, though he would never dare admit it.

He hadn't been expecting things to improve, after the clock incident, but something about Whirl really did seem to have changed. A shift in mentality, perhaps. Or maybe it was just that he had started seeing an actual therapist, finally, Brainstorm wasn't sure, though it surely didn't hurt. He seemed more driven, more goal oriented, and he had started taking more classes at the medical University in chronosmithing and first aid, and doing well. Brainstorm still didn't like leaving him alone- he was still _Whirl,_ he had his suicidal meltdowns here and there, spent a night in jail or a week in prison when he hit a low point, but he got picked up every time and went back to trying, and that was all that really mattered. 

Brainstorm wasn't sure how good of a coping mechanism it was that every time he seemed to lose his self control he went and got himself in trouble on purpose, but maybe it was at least in the right direction. He wasn't a psychologist, he didn't really know any of that stuff. No, _Kroma_ was a psychologist, and he spent an annoying amount of time around the house, because apparently him and Whirl were friends, now, after their bizarre little incident. He didn't know much about Kroma other than what Whirl had mentioned offhandedly about the Old Cybertron's Kroma before the war, but he seemed like he was, or had been, at least, kind of a jerk. Brainstorm, for his part, found himself largely caught up in his new relationship, Chromedome and Rewind spending an absolutely obscene amount of time at the Whirlstorm apartment, since Brainstorm couldn't really leave. Well, unless he got Whirl to carry his battery for him, which he was happy to do, but still. Only for scientific endeavors. 

That part was especially nice. Brainstorm was intimately aware that he was a touch-starved son of a glitch, but he hadn't really understood how neurotic that it made him until suddenly he was indulging in all sorts of tactility whenever he felt like it. He was a hugger, as Chromedome teased, his favourite place curled up on his best-friend-turned-boyfriend's chest, Rewind under one arm so he could feel both their sparks at once. It was indulgent in every way he'd never allowed himself to imagine. Worth blowing up over.

At some point Whirl had come home after another awful blind date that Rewind had insisted on setting up for him, stumbled over Brainstorm's power cord criss-crossed over the floor like a fishnet and yelled "Why can't you just make a big fuckin' life support ship like Thunderclash!" 

Brainstorm spent the next six months designing precisely that. It was a big project, and he had to nag Drift again for land money, but he was planning on being sickeningly domestic, designing a perfect little house for three, with no need for cables all over the place. He made sure to leave in space for a guest room, just in case Whirl getting his own apartment ended up falling through or being a bad idea after all, but he seemed okay. A suicidal meltdown meant a phone call for help and not a manhunt these days, so it was enough. 

By the time Rewind got himself stuck in his tiny alt-mode, Chromedome was a grief counsellor, Whirl was a registered nurse and Brainstorm had made a new briefcase. There had been three completely miserable days where he'd really thought Whirl had gone off the deep end again, before he showed up at the house looking like he hadn't sleep in a month, manic and enthused with an accurate-to-life modelled holoform he'd designed. Brainstorm had rendered his fair share of holoforms, but, Whirl was an _artist_ with the things, the way he rigged them to move, the attention to detail in the textures- Brainstorm thought he'd make a killing if he did commissions. In any case, in enough short order Rewind was wandering around the house again, and it was easy to forget it wasn't really him. There were only a few days his thought patterns got too scrambled to project, but they adapted. Chromedome cut his hours. Whirl came over more. 

Brainstorm was fairly certain he was happier than he'd ever been, even if he was stuck at home more than he'd ever been. He wasn't like Whirl, anyway, always itching to exercise his alt-mode. He didn't miss flying as much as he would have thought that he would. He was perfectly happy to enjoy his domestic little house and his Conjunx trine, tinkering away in his lab until someone dragged him out to go to bed while he begged to do just one more test.

He worried about his new Amica less and less as the years passed them by, but never stopped entirely. None of his dates ever went past a second, and he still seemed to limit his social group to former Lost Lighters and _Kroma._ They'd stopped talking about _them_ ages ago, but Brainstorm could tell he'd never quite gotten over them. They lingered in his optic like ghosts, haunting him even still. Despite it, though, he seemed happy. Happy enough. 

Until Ratchet's diagnosis, that was. Rarchet was a blunt old mech and he didn't much mince words about it, didn't best around the bush or offer a bunch of false hope. He knew he was going, and he was ready to wrap up his affairs with dignity. Whirl hadn't taken it particularly well, trying to quit his job three times before he finally stabilized again, and Brainstorm, specifically, was going to miss him. Ratchet had been a lot of help in working on his own condition, a good friend who had never ghosted him. 

Six months later, though, he was gone, and even knowing it was coming didn't dull the pain. Brainstorm wasn't particularly surprised when he went looking for Whirl in the aftermath and found him back in prison again. Getting drunk and setting an old building on fire was not what Brainstorm would call a _healthy_ coping mechanism, but he hadn't hurt anyone, including himself, so he wasn't going to fight him about it, since that was at least healthier than what he _used_ to do- and Drift said he was confident he would be able to arrange day release for the funeral. Brainstorm was sure Whirl would never forgive himself if he missed _that._

Life went on, basically. 

* * *

"Oh, Brainstorm, you made it," Drift said, turning as he stood and wiping his optics, "You didn't have to come early."

"I know," Brainstorm said, and gave him a quick hug, "But I know you didn't ask anyone else for help." 

Drift's expression softened, grateful and resigned. “One day you’re going to stop helicopter parenting all of your friends," he sighed, "and then we’ll all be doomed.”

“Not today, at least,” Brainstorm said, setting a hand on his shoulder. "Come on. Let's get the chairs set up."

Chromedome and Rewind got there next, having only lagged behind longer because Rewind was struggling with his projection today. By the time they had everything set up, Nautica and First Aid had arrived, followed shortly by Velocity and then by Swerve, and soon enough a crowd had gathered, the head of Ratchet's funerary monument beginning to collect little vials of innermost to rival that of a Prime's. The atmosphere was irrevocable, caught somewhere between the morose resigned acceptance of mourning and the stilted delight of seeing old friends, a strange mix that made for strange conversation. Brainstorm was especially happy to catch up with Nautica, his first Amica, still his, even if they didn't connect as much as he liked. She was happy, and that was enough. 

"It's good to see you again," he said, taking her hands, and she smiled at him, as bright and full of life as always, even if it was tainted by the lingering grief for the reason for their meeting today. 

"It's been too long," Nautica sighed, "I haven't seen you since my book launch."

"Well, some of us have a little more trouble travelling," he chuckled, holding up his briefcase. Her optics brightened.

"Is that a new design?" she asked, hands creeping toward it, "May I?" 

"Of course," he said, hefting it up and opening it so she could inspect the contents, where his spark rested, beside a series of miniature quantum generators. 

"Wow!" Nautica breathed, inspecting his handiwork with hungry optics, "You added a clock!"

"Whirl made it for me," Brainstorm said, vicariously proud, "It keeps perfect time."

"Not worried this one will blow you up, too?" she smiled, despite herself, peeking over the top of his briefcase. He shut it.

"Not at all."

"Is he coming today?" Nautica asked, as he lowered the briefcase back to his side, "Whirl, I mean."

"He'll be along whenever his transport arrives," he shrugged, "He doesn't handle death well." 

"Poor Whirl." 

"I gave him the copy of your book you sent, by the way. He's probably already finished it- he gets so bored in there."

"I'd love to know what he thought," she smiled, "He's certainly in it enou-" Nautica froze, optics moving up from Brainstorm's face to above and behind him and he frowned behind his faceplate.

"What?" he asked, turning around to see what she was staring at.

"Don't-" she started, but if she said anything else, Brainstorm didn't hear it.

On the edges of the graveyard, Cyclonus landed in his alt-mode and let Tailgate climb out before transforming back to his root mode and standing, looking around casually, like him being here wasn't _completely insane._ His red optics scanned the crowd with a fondness he had no right to possess, and Brainstorm felt his feet moving beneath him without his permission or instruction, carrying him towards the intruder as everything else in the world winked out and waited.

He passed Drift, who turned, too late, and said, "Oh, no-"

Somewhere in the distance he heard Chromedome yell "Stormy, _don't-_ "

And, last but not least, when he had almost reached him, Cyclonus had the _audacity_ to look directly at him and smile, like he was _happy to see him_ , and say, "Brainstorm, it's been too long!" 

Brainstorm's right hand folded into a fist so tight he felt pistons cracking, his arm pulled back, and when he surged forward and punched Cyclonus as hard as he could he felt his hand break against his jaw with the force of it, sending the other mech flat onto his back with a surprised cry. 

"What the _he_ -" he started, but Brainstorm didn't let him finish, both hands in fists at his sides, right hand dripping energon from his broken fingers, whole body shaking with rage.

" _You_ son of a _glitch!_ " Brainstorm shrieked, "You _left_ him!" 

" _What?_ " Cyclonus asked, incredulous, as he sat up, one clawed hand on his jaw. 

"You _left him!"_ Brainstorm repeated, feeling lubricant press at the corners of his optics, hot and angry, "You were supposed to be his friend and you _left_ him!" 

"What are you _talking_ about?!" Tailgate demanded, kneeling down beside his baffled conjunx. 

" _Whirl!_ " he snarled, "How _dare_ you show your faceplate here after you left him behind to die!" 

"What do you mean _die?_ " Cyclonus froze, even as a crowd started to form around them. 

"Don't play dumb! You don't get to act like you don't know what he's like when _you_ knew him better than _anyone_! Did you think you could leave him the same way you found him and that he would still be here when you got back? What the fuck were you _thinking?_ "

"Wait-" said Tailgate, interrupting, "Are you saying Whirl- that he's-"

"Oh, _now_ you care?!" Brainstorm sliced a fist through the air, righteous fury spilling over past his optics as tears that ran down his faceplate, fifty years of resentment overflowing and drowning out the little voice in his head telling him to shut up and walk away, " _Now_ you give a shit whether he's killed himself or not? You _left_ him and you did it _knowing_ what he is, what he's like! You think you have the right to know what happened to him after you left? You think you have the right to be upset when you _left_ him here for us, for _me_ to pick up the pieces you didn't want to deal with?!" 

"I-" Cyclonus started, staring at him, still on the ground, "I don't-" 

"Fifty years we haven't heard from you," Brainstorm hissed, wiping desperately at his optics as they started to fog, his vision warbling, "Fifty years too late if someone else hadn't given more of a shit than you did." 

"Stormy, I think that's enough," Chromedome said, gently, a hand on his shoulder, "Come on. He's not worth it." 

Brainstorm hesitated a moment more, glaring daggers at this mech he'd once hated as an enemy soldier and learned to hate _personally_ as an individual. "You're right," he said, finally, voice shaking, "He's not worth it." He let Chromedome pull him in by the shoulder and walk him away, crowd parting like the sea to let him leave, before the rest of the funeral turned to follow him, and left Cyclonus and Tailgate alone where they'd landed. 

"I'm sorry," Brainstorm hissed under his breath, shoulders shaking, "I didn't mean to- I just- _dammit-"_

"C'mere," Chromedome murmured softly, pulling him flush against his chest where he could dip and bury his head in his shoulder, hands still curled into angry little fists. "You're fine. You're allowed to be pissed."

"I crossed the line," Brainstorm wheezed, voice hoarse, "It's Ratchet's _funeral._ "

"If Rewind was on holo today he would have said worse than you," Chromedome pulled him tighter, reassuring, "Don't ever regret punching an afthole."

"Brainstorm-" said a voice that made both of them snap their heads up and turn, as Drift jogged over to them, "Are you alright?"

"Drift," Brainstorm said, wiping the last of his furious tears from his face, "I am _so_ sorry, I-"

"Oh, I hope you're not," Drift said, grabbing him by the shoulders, "That's the first thing that's made me smile in weeks. Ratty might not have been a fan of violence for violence sake, but-" he smiled sadly, lopsided, looking up at the faint blue hologram over the monument fondly, "I think if I'd told him a week ago that Cyclonus would be getting decked at his funeral, he would have loved it." 

Brainstorm smiled weakly behind his faceplate, still shaking, but less so. He set a hand on Drift's wrist on his shoulder and nodded. The three of them looked up when they heard the approaching rumble of a van, G-10 TRANSPORT painted on the side in thick block letters. 

"Come on," Chromedome said, "Let's go meet him before _they_ try to." 

Brainstorm shook the shakes away and straightened up, taking a deep invent to cool himself down. "Right. Let's go get Whirl, and finish this like adults. Thank you for arranging his day release, Drift. He'd never have forgiven himself if he hadn't made it today."

Drift dropped his hands back to his sides, "I know."


	14. Generals Order Their Soldiers to Kill

"What are you doing?"

Whirl looked up, startled, as the light flickered on. It was the middle of the night, no one else should be here. 

Ratchet was standing in the doorway to his office, wearing an expression that said he had a pretty clear idea of what Whirl was doing there. The helicopter twitched nervously, setting down the datapad in his claws on top of the rest of the scattered pads on Ratchet's desk. 

"Uh… reorganizing?" he tried, halfheartedly. Ratchet's expression soured. "Looking for a patient file?" He tried again. 

"Whirl," Ratchet said, his voice more gruff and scratchy than it ever had been, "It's going to be alright." 

Whirl pushed himself to his feet, gathering up the scattered data pads in his arms and turning away, shoving them back on the shelf haphazardly. “It ain’t about that.”

Ratchet crossed the room and watched him, frowning. “Don’t worry about that. You can put it back in the morning.”

“I fucked it up, I’ll fix it. I was gonna anyway.”

“When was the last time you recharged?” Ratchet asked, “You look like you’re running on empty.”

“Ain’t that the least of your worries?” Whirl snapped.

“Hardly. I can _do_ something about _your_ health.”

Whirl threw a datapad on the floor so hard that it snapped in half, glass scattering across the tile.

“Whirl-”

“How can you just give up like this?” Whirl spun, “You ain’t even gonna _try_?”

“There’s nothing to try, Whirl,” Ratchet said, ignoring the glass around his pedes, “Come on. We’ll fix it in the morning. You should go home.”

“ _You_ should get up and _fight_!" Whirl argued, pulling away as Ratchet reached for his shoulder, "You should get down to the grind and do your goddamn science magic and fix this! You ain't no older than me, you ain't done here yet- this is bullshit! Stop acting like it's fine!"

Whirl didn't pull away again when Ratchet drew him in for a hug, his chassis still shaking as if he even remembered what crying felt like, four million years on, silent other than the static caught in his choking vocalizer.

* * *

The van wasn't sentient. Whirl never liked riding in non-sentient vehicles. There was something uncomfortable about it, something that bordered awkwardly between a fetish he didn't have and something from a horror movie, even if he knew it was just moving parts, that there was nothing weird about it. There was a wrongness to it that burrowed underneath his plating and lived in his circuitry, cold and unwelcome. The whole thing put him on edge on the way to the funeral, and he was already on edge, on account of him being on his way to a funeral.

He looked up when he felt the van begin to slow to a halt, windows painted over in the back row leaving him to wait for the driver to turn. 

"We're here," said Brakeline, parking the van, "do you need a minute?" 

"I'm good," said Whirl, and Brakeline nodded, hopping out of the front seat of the van and coming around to the side Whirl was waiting on, claws scissoring anxiously together, wrists cuffed. The door opened and Whirl raised his wrists up to tighten the chain link that ran to the backseat in front of him while Brakeline unlocked it and then stepped out of the way so he could get out. 

Brainstorm and Chromedome were waiting just behind the guard, their expressions less somber and more alarmed. Whirl was confused especially by Brainstorm's tear streaked faceplate. This was _Brainstorm_ , he'd been friends with Ratchet, but not _close_ friends, and Brainstorm didn't _cry_. Whirl hopped out onto his pedes, cocking his helm to the side.

"Whirl," Brainstorm started, "They're here." 

"Who's here?" Whirl asked, confused, sidestepping him to look behind his Amica, even as Brainstorm moved to stop him, to guide him away, but it was too late. 

It was _them._

Whirl softened like mercury beneath the Cybertronian sun, a too-warm feeling that shot straight to his protoform and left him cold beneath his plating, like an inside-out fever. He stretched up, shoulders sinking, optic dilating, vents hitching, as the world shifted suddenly back into place where it had been off-kilter before, a trillion broken connectors in his spark that suddenly realigned themselves and changed the colour profile of the universe to something brighter. 

In the next moment he grabbed it and yanked it back where it had been, off-kilter and unconnected as it was, it was _his_ world to shift, and no one else's. 

"Whirl," said Cyclonus, standing up, optics locked on him. 

Whirl turned his head away sharply, ducking his helm and tightening his claws grip on each other, and Brainstorm set an arm around his shoulder and walked with him. 

"Are you alright?" Brainstorm whispered, and Whirl didn't answer, other than to keep walking. 

"Wait," he heard Cyclonus say behind him, closer now, "Chromedome, get out of the- I just want to _talk_ -" 

Whirl quickened his pace and kept his theoretical mouth shut.

"Whirl, what are you-" 

"I'm not _fucking_ doing this here," Whirl snarled, spinning around, but looking Cyclonus in the optics again was overwhelming in every way, and Whirl was torn between his softhearted spark and his pointed carapace walls around it. "Let me _mourn_ , for fuck's sake." He felt his vents flare, quivering, as if he were preparing for a fight, even if the fight was with himself. 

Cyclonus's face screwed up again in that bullshit confusion, "I don't-" he started, before a firm voice stopped him.

"Cyclonus," said Drift, sounding a lot like he used to and not in a way Whirl particularly liked, "Leave him be." 

Cyclonus stood up straight, turning to stare at the interjecting widow, before, finally, _mercifully_ , he ducked his head and walked away. Whirl shook his helm and let Brainstorm turn him back away so he could approach the monument and pull the vial of innermost he'd already drawn from his subspace and place it carefully down on the stone. He stood back up, regarding the inscription with a tired optic. 

_Without love, there is no meaning._

Brainstorm patted him on the shoulder and turned him away to take a seat on the far side of the gathering of chairs, front row, farthest from the side they'd left Cyclonus and Tailgate on. Chromedome returned shortly enough and sat on his other side, and Whirl waited quietly through the rest of the service, half listening, half drawn into grief and even then, he still found some percentage of his thoughts to devote to the once-friends-now-strangers sitting all too close and all too far away. 

The mech speaking was a stranger to him, anyway. Someone whose whole shtick was funerals that Ratchet had talked to ahead of time to take that off of Drift's shoulders. Whirl thought it was just like the old man to be so worried about everyone else even when he was waiting on death's doorstep. He kind of hated that about him. 

The whole thing was shorter than he expected. Whirl had never been a big fan of funerals. During wartime they'd barely ever done any- all you got was an email, if you were lucky, saying someone you gave enough of a shit about to be on a notify list for had bit it, and if not, you might not know for years that they were dead. Whirl was usually the latter, but he kept up with the dailies, reading names, putting faces to them in his head, and then going through all the different reasons he hated that guy, all the reasons he didn't care they were dead. It was a game, in a way, one he always won. Well, usually won. He'd not been on the notify list for Rotorstorm but he'd found out when he read the G-9 report, and he'd not taken that well at all. He could think of a lot of reasons he hated that guy but not even one why he was glad he was dead. By the end of the day Whirl had shredded his room, tried to kill Springer, been kicked off the Wreckers and had to be pinned down by Ultra Magnus himself, gun to his head and foot in his back. 

He didn't handle death well.

Whirl didn’t realize the funeral director had stopped speaking until Chromedome nudged him and he looked up, blinking as if he had forgotten where he was, what he was doing. He stood, stretching tired legs and lingered, looking up at the hologram before he turned away again.

"Whirl," said Drift, waving him over, "Can I speak with you?" He looked up at Brainstorm, "privately?"

"Yeah," Whirl answered, and Brainstorm patted his shoulder once before stepping away. 

"How are you holding up?" Drift asked, and Whirl exvented, trying not to get upset at being fussed over by someone more in need of fussing over. 

"Fine," he said, the only answer he could think to give, "Thanks for getting me day release."

"Of course," Drift's optics drifted down and away for a moment, in thought, before he looked back up, "I had them held for you, in case you changed your mind." 

Whirl stiffened. "I don't want them."

Drift was quiet, contemplating. "He told me, you know." 

"Told you what?" 

"About the first time you met," Drift clarified, "before the war."

Whirl's antennae swivelled up and then back down again, plating flattening, "In Rodion?" 

"Yes."

Whirl shifted uncomfortably, "I didn't know he recognized me. When did he figure that one out?" 

"He said that he always knew who you were," Drift's optics shifted to the monument, "Your picture was everywhere after that great big speech Orion gave," Drift half smiled ruefully. "He said, and it amused me, that it was not until a few years into the war that he learned how to forget the face of someone that had tried to kill him."

"...Yeah, well," Whirl sighed, following Drift's optics morosely, "Fucked that one up, I guess." Whirl raised his claws, still cuffed at the wrists, and snipped them, "Got what I got. I knew what I was getting into." 

Drift put a hand on his pincers, pointedly, fingers closing around the blade, firm. "You probably saved his life, Whirl. If he had lost his hands then- I don't know what would have happened to him. I don't know if he would have made it."

Whirl shrugged. "It was across the line." 

"Are you sure you won't take them?" Drift asked again.

"Ratch was a smart guy, but he was wrong about medic hands," Whirl sighed, "It ain't microdermals keepin' me from makin' chronos, it's just me and practice. I'll get it, eventually." 

Drift smiled, softly. "Keep them anyway? He always felt he owed you a pair of hands. You don't have to use them. He wanted you to have them, whatever you do with them."

"Alright," Whirl ascented, "I can do that." 

"I'll have Brainstorm drop them off at your apartment," Drift said, letting go of his claws, finally, "for when you get back home."

"Yeah, well, I've got another two weeks," Whirl grumbled, "as if a little petty arson ever hurt anybody."

"As if." 

Whirl turned and glanced back to the crowd, where Cyclonus and Tailgate lingered, watching him. 

"I'll see you when I'm out," Whirl said after a pause, "We don't gotta open so soon, you know."

"I know," Drift said, "But we will. See you soon, Whirl."

Whirl was only three steps away when his Amica practically magnetized himself to his side again, plating flared like an irate bird. He wondered with amusement, not for the first time, if Brainstorm actually knew how easy to read his body language was. 

"You don't have to talk to him," Brainstorm reminded him. 

"I know," said Whirl, "I ain't gonna."

"Don't freak out as soon as you leave," Brainstorm said, insistent, "I can't follow you to Garrus-10 to talk you down."

"I don't need talking down."

"Don't pretend you're fine."

"I ain't fine," Whirl mumbled, "But I don't need talking down. I'm good."

Brainstorm shifted, releasing tension. "Good. Alright. Call tomorrow."

"'Course," Whirl paused, "And, uh. Can you put the thing Drift's gonna give you in the closet in my workshop? Top shelf. Don't open it."

Brainstorm blinked at him. "Okay." 

"Thanks."

Whirl left him with a hug before he crawled back into the non-sentient G-10 van, without speaking to Cyclonus. He held it together while Brakeline locked him back into the seat restraints and until after the van started moving again, but once it was moving, once he was officially and unmistakenly Away, he doubled over, helm between his knees, claws clutched against the back of his head and starting sobbing, tearless as always.


	15. And Gather it all in a Bunch of Heather

"Rewind, stop, don't-" Brainstorm had to grab the cube from the minibot's hand before he could pour it down his intake, and he blinked up at him in surprise, still sitting on the counter. 

"What?" he asked, hands wavering uncertainly in front of his chest as if he was waiting for Brainstorm to return his breakfast. 

"Holoform, dear," Brainstorm reminded him, giving him a kiss on the forehead. Rewind shook his head, as if clearing away a haze.

"Right! Right," he rubbed his optics again, clarity blooming across them, "Where- where am I, I don't remember where I set myself down." 

"Chromedome's got you," Brainstorm told him, crossing the room back to where he'd been to grab his briefcase and flip on the controls, "You remember what we're doing today?" He called back to the kitchen. 

"We're going to see Perceptor," Rewind said, confidently, "He had some ideas related to mass-shifting he wanted to work with me on."

"Let's hope we get some good hypotheses, hm!" Brainstorm chirped.

Rewind scooted off the counter and came to inspect his briefcase as it whirred to life. Brainstorm could sense the frown on him, even without a face beneath his light-projected mouthplate. 

"You already spent a lot of time out of the house yesterday for the funeral," Rewind commented, "Are you sure it's a good idea to go out again today?" 

"What?" Brainstorm scoffed, "I'm fine, I recharged all night." 

"Stormy," Rewind's voice oozed concern, one hand on Brainstorm's arm. 

"I'm sure it will be fine," Brainstorm argued again, more weakly.

"You can come next time," Rewind reminded him, "Domey can take care of me for _one day_." 

Brainstorm whined, wings flapping, irritated, and he checked the monitor he'd built into the inside of his arm for his spark readouts. They _were_ especially poor today. He was lower than he really wanted to be. With a grimace, he flipped the briefcase off and shut it again with a huff.

"Rung would be proud of you," Rewind said, patting his arm.

"Who's Rung?" Brainstorm asked, putting the briefcase back in its slot by the wall to charge. 

"He's-" Rewind paused, shifting his weight on his pedes as he set a hand on his faceplate in thought, "I don't remember." 

"No worries," Brainstorm waved, "I'm sure he would be, whoever he is."

"Hey!" Chromedome called from the stairwell, "Sorry, I'm done. Ready to go?"

"Stormy's staying home to recharge," Rewind told him, and Chromedome looked immediately disappointed. 

"Not going to translate Perceptor-speak for me?" Chromedome asked. 

"Unfortunately I have been remanded to the house," Brainstorm sighed, " _Someone_ is worried about my spark."

"Well, if I don't, you certainly won't," Rewind teased him, beckoning him lean down for a kiss, and Brainstorm happily obliged.

"Take it easy," Chromedome told him, grabbing Rewind's hand, "I'll bring you back dinner."

"Something disgustingly oversweetened, please," Brainstorm purred, and the other two left him alone at home. He slumped immediately, exhaustion putting weight on all his struts and pistons. He glanced back at the cube of energon he'd taken from Rewind and left on the counter, and crossed the room to pick it up and sip at it, watching the clock on the wall, lost in thought. 

His first urge was to call Drift today and check on him, but he was pretty confident Drift would much prefer to be alone today and not be bothered. Whirl would call whenever they let him, he had said that he would. Perhaps he really should just take it easy. 

The doorbell rang. 

Brainstorm looked up and blinked and wondered if they'd forgotten something. Maybe even Rewind. He set the cube down, crossed the room, and opened the door.

"Good afternoon," said Cyclonus. 

"No," said Brainstorm, and shut the door. 

The doorbell rang again. "Please, Brainstorm, we just want to talk!" Tailgate's voice carried through the door, and Brainstorm scowled, opening it again.

"I will not apologize to you," he snapped. 

"Don't, then," Cyclonus said to him, and Brainstorm was reminded how tall and terrifying this mech was, looming over him like death incarnate, "We wish only to speak." 

"About what?"

"About Whirl."

"He's in jail," Brainstorm said, voice dry, trying to hold his nerve, "He doesn't live here."

"Drift said you were Amica Endura," Tailgate told him, and Brainstorm's optics darted down to him, "He said if we wanted to know what we missed we should talk to you."

"Drift sent you?" Brainstorm grimaced.

"I apologized for disrupting the service," Cyclonus rumbled. 

Brainstorm tapped the door for a moment, contemplating, before he set his jaw and stood aside, gesturing at them to come inside. 

"This is a nice place," Tailgate commented, voice caught between pleasant and awkward, "It's very domestic."

"We had it built," Brainstorm said, shutting the door, "It works like Thunderclash's old ship did. It's a life support chamber."

"For who?"

"For me," Brainstorm said, crossing the kitchen to grab his discarded breakfast. He sat down at the table with a huff and took a swig, and after an awkward moment, his guests joined him. 

"Are you alright? What happened?" Tailgate fretted, visor bright.

"Miscalculated a blast radius," Brainstorm shrugged, "Forgot to carry a three. My spark can't hold a charge anymore. Could be worse, I suppose. I've got a battery, so I can leave for little jaunts."

"So you live here alone?" Tailgate looked sad at the idea.

"Oh, heavens no," Brainstorm waved, "You only just missed Chromedome and Rewind. They just left." He paused. "We're Conjunx Endura now."

"Who is?" asked Tailgate.

"We are."

"All three of you? At the same time? You can do that?"

"I can do whatever the hell I like," he said, a bit miffed, "there's no rules." 

"Hm," said Tailgate, glancing away in thought.

"So where have you two been that was so important you couldn't call?" Brainstorm asked, and he made no attempt to hide the bite in his tone, bringing his cube to his lips, optics watching in silent accusation. 

"Stasis travel the first three months," Cyclonus explained, "We had originally intended to stop back at Cybertron after two or three years, but-" 

"We ended up on this organic planet called Emistis," Tailgate interjected, "It's inhabited by organics, these little, um, cat people? And another mechanoid race, the Centinels, they've been oppressing them for centuries and making them work in the mines, and-"

"And we got distracted," Cyclonus finished, "It was far out of comm range with New Cybertron. We didn't realize how much time had passed."

"Hm," Brainstorm hummed, sloshing around his drink, "How noble of you. Did you win?"

"Yup!" said Tailgate, "We ended up backing them into a corner- they had to sign a treaty to stay off world, and join the galactic alliance, so we know they're being watched, now." 

"I suppose there's worse ways you could have been using your time," Brainstorm's optics darted idly to the clock on the wall again, one of Whirl's designs, "I'm glad it was so fulfilling." 

"We thought of you all often," Cyclonus assured him, "We've wondered frequently what you all were doing, what Cybertron had become." 

"That's nice," Brainstorm replied, "I was here."

"...So you and Whirl are Amica now," said Cyclonus, forging ahead despite the awkward turn and pointed dismissal, "I didn't realize you two were so close."

"We weren't," Brainstorm answered, raising his chin, "We were roommates while you were gone."

"I see."

"He's a good friend," Brainstorm continued, daring him to argue, "He's hard to warm up to but loyal to a fault once you've got his trust."

"I have never known Whirl to trust anyone," said Cyclonus, carding his hands in front of him on the table, brow furrowed. 

"Maybe you just never earned it." 

There was a long moment of silence where Brainstorm fought his plating to keep it still and tight. 

"Maybe not," said Cyclonus, finally. 

"What happened with Whirl?" Tailgate interjected, "how long has he been in prison?"

"Only a week," Brainstorm shrugged, "he's in and out. Usually out. They go pretty easy on him because of his long history of mental health problems. Also, I think his functionist double is some kind of folk hero or something? People seem really absurdly sympathetic to him here." 

"What history of mental health problems?" Tailgate asked.

Brainstorm stared at him, squinting his optics to determine his sincerity. 

"He's got PTSD," he said, gesturing _duh_ with his hands. 

"Doesn't everyone?" Tailgate's visor dimmed. Brainstorm considered him for a moment and wondered what perspective he had to have on the world and the war and everyone in it. Maybe he was serious after all. 

"He's erratic," Cyclonus said, tapping his folded hands to his lips in thought, "He courts destruction too easily." 

"That's an understatement," Brainstorm snorted, sipping his fuel. 

"What does that mean?" 

"Whirl's had," Brainstorm made a show of counting on his fingers, "Oh, I dunno, seven or eight suicide attempts since you last saw him."

Cyclonus recoiled, plating rising, claws folding away from his face. "What?"

"Like, surely this isn't a surprise," Brainstorm gaped at him, "This isn't even _new._ He told _me_ you literally walked in on him covered in energon and holding a match."

"You _what?_ " Tailgate gasped.

"...He told me that it wasn't what it looked like," Cyclonus murmured, optics darkening as he laced his fingers together in front of him.

"And you _believed_ him?" Brainstorm squinted at him, "Cyclonus, he's a _liar._ He pushes people away. It's what he _does._ " Brainstorm set his cube down, frustrated. "That's why _I_ am his Amica and you- you aren't anything to him anymore. I don't let him push me away. You do."

Cyclonus bristled. "I am not a _mind reader,_ I can't just know when he's being untruthful-" 

"Then leave him alone," Brainstorm said, bristling back, "If you can't handle him, then don't. He doesn't need you. He needs people who _can_ tell when he's being untruthful."

"My lack of experience with his issues does not undermine my _concern_ ," Cyclonus argued, "I still care for him, Whirl and I _were_ close, once, I _am_ upset to hear he's fared so poorly in our absence."

"So?" Brainstorm snapped, "So what if you care about him? So what if you used to be friends? You aren't anymore. You _left._ You got up and you left him behind and he flew straight to the rust sea to walk into it," Brainstorm pushed his chair back, leaning forward on the table, "He's _vulnerable,_ and he's _my_ Amica, and if that means protecting him from _you_ and what you can do to him, then you bet I won't hesitate."

"He doesn't need protection from _me_ ," Cyclonus insisted, though he didn't rise, "Now that I know he's been in turmoil, I _want_ to support him!"

"Then _leave_ ," Brainstorm hissed, "You've done enough damage as it is. He's _finally_ starting to get his shit together, and he did it without you. You are not the kind of help he needs. He needs people that can tell when he's spiralling, that check on him, that stick _around_." He ran a hand over his head, exventing sharply. "He's _vulnerable._ If you come back into his life now and then you leave again, if he opens up his spark and you make him regret it? Forget the last fifty years that I've dragged him around by his ankles to every court date and therapy appointment. That'll be it, Cyclonus. It will _kill_ him."

Cyclonus stared at him, optics tracking back and forth, mouth set in a grave line, before his whole expression fell and he hung his head, staring at his hands. "I didn't realize I could have such an affect on him."

Brainstorm tittered with laughter and collapsed back in his seat, "Are you kidding? He's been _desperately_ in love with you since Luna 01. He couldn't _believe_ you left him behind."

Cyclonus's hands fisted on the table and his head snapped up, fangs glinting, "I _thought_ -"

"Thank you," Tailgate interrupted, putting a hand on Cyclonus's chest to still him, "For speaking with us, Brainstorm. You have a beautiful home. We'll leave you be, now." 

"Tailgate-" Cyclonus started, but Tailgate shook his head. 

"We're sorry for causing you so much trouble," Tailgate apologized, standing, and gestured at Cyclonus to follow him. "Thank you for taking care of Whirl." 

Brainstorm didn't respond, leaning back in his seat, and only watched in silence as they left the way they came in. He finished his cube in one solid gulp, crumpled it up and threw it across the room into the garbage, as hard as he could.


	16. A Cause They've Long Ago Forgotten

Chromedome was waiting streetside for him when Whirl stepped outside and squinted in the sunlight uncomfortably. They always kept G-10 just a little too dark for his tastes. 

"Welcome back to the free world," Chromedome said, looking up from his datapad with a nod, subspacing it and gesturing Whirl in for a hug, "How are you holding up?" 

"Alright," Whirl shrugged, accepting a sidehug with a sigh, "Tired." 

"I bet," Chromedome said, waving at a cab in the street, "Come on, you're staying in the guest room tonight." 

"No argument," Whirl relented, following Chromedome to the cabbie. 

The ride was short, but still longer than Whirl really wanted, leaning quietly against his friend's side while he filled him in on what he'd missed, what Perceptor and Rewind had been working on, how he was sure they were going to crack the mass-shifting issue any day now. Lost in his thoughts, Whirl had little to contribute but well timed nods.

Whirl liked his apartment, and he liked his space, but on days like this, he liked nothing more his friend's disgustingly domestic home, white picket fence and all. The mid-afternoon sunlight shone down on him as he left the cab, banishing the memory of the last three weeks as if they hadn't happened at all, leaving Whirl blinking into the sky, wondering if all ghosts were so easily exorcised. 

Chromedome unlocked the front door and ushered him in first, and he wasn't surprised when Brainstorm grabbed him like a stuffed animal and squeezed. Brainstorm was a hugger. 

"You!" Brainstorm snapped, "When was the last time you fueled? You look terrible. Have you been skimping? Come here." 

Whirl let himself be dragged across the room into the kitchen and accepted the cube that was shoved into his claws.

"Don't just stare at it," Brainstorm fussed, pulling him back out of the kitchen and into the living room, "Go sit down and refuel. No argument."

"No argument," Whirl repeated, absently, and sat down, crossing his legs on the couch. "Where's the camcorder?" 

"Migraine," Chromedome told him, sitting down next to him, "Pick a movie."

"Kill Bill."

"You're so fucking predictable," Chromedome muttered, fiddling with the remote. 

Whirl didn't make it to the end of part one before he was unconscious, passed out directly on his Amica like an exhausted sparkling. He barely even woke up when he was led off to the guest room, half carried under one arm, mumbling about the Hayes Code and German Expressionist film sets, and collapsed in a familiar berth, a comfort he'd missed dearly. 

When he woke up again his chronometer told him it was the middle of the night, and the sky confirmed it. He spent another few minutes staring at the ceiling debating if he wanted to recharge anymore or get up despite the hour, but he was itching to exercise and he threw his pedes over the side of the berth, standing up with a stretch, rotors spinning as quietly as he could. He turned back to the sky, longingly, and then went downstairs to refuel. 

A few sips in he made up his mind and commed Brainstorm upstairs.

"Mmf," his amica mumbled in his audials, "You good?"

"Can't sleep," Whirl told him, "I'm gonna go flying, maybe check on my apartment."

"Cool," Brainstorm yawned, "Come back later?"

"Okay. Night."

"Night."

Whirl cut his comm and finished his fuel, locked the door to the house behind him with his key and took off. He hadn't gone for a real flight in three weeks and he missed the feeling of air on his plating, missed the rush of speed and wind and movement. He did barrel rolls over Iacon until the sun rose, reflecting off the shimmering towers and making flying kind of an obnoxious affair. He landed outside his apartment with a thump and stretched out his root mode again, feeling relieved to see his place hadn't burned down in his absence. 

Whirl was in a fairly good mood on the way up the stairs to his apartment on the second floor, but his mood came crashing down when he pushed the stairwell door open and the mech standing in front of his apartment door, one hand raised to knock, spun to stare at him, visor flared in surprise. 

The moment stretched long and heavy, before Tailgate spoke first. 

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," said Whirl. 

Tailgate turned to look at his fist and then lowered it back to his side. "I can go, if you want, but, um, I thought maybe you'd wanna talk."

Whirl thought about it.

"Where's Cyclonus?" he asked, instead of answering.

"Back at the hotel," Tailgate said, "I thought that maybe you wouldn't want to see him." 

Whirl stared at him for another minute, before he shook his head and finished walking to his apartment, unlocking it. "Come on. I've gotta water my plants." 

"You have plants?" Tailgate asked, sounding surprised, following Whirl into his flat. It was a small place that he didn't actually spend a lot of time at, a bedroom, a workshop, a kitchen/living room combo. He flipped on the lights and opened the door to his workshop.

"My therapist told me to get some," Whirl said, checking the closet for a box on the top shelf, "If I don't come home for too long or ask someone to drop by they die." 

"You have a therapist?"

"Yeah."

Whirl shut the closet door and came back to the living room, crossing to a leafy thing sitting in the windowsill. "Drift gave me this one. He said the colour of its leaves is calming or something. He's crazy, obviously, but at least it don't get too big." Whirl inspected the plant, tapping the soil with a claw to check if it was damp or not. 

"...You've gotten really close to everyone while we were gone," Tailgate said, softly. Whirl shrugged. 

"A few people," Whirl said, and went to find a cup in the kitchen to fill with water. "Me'n Stormy are close, and I hang out with Kroma sometimes, and I work with Drift and Ra-" Whirl stopped, claws on a glass, before he shook himself and resumed his task, "With Drift. He's got a free clinic for low income folks. I got a nursing degree. Been workin' on makin' chronos again."

"That's…" Tailgate paused, wringing his hands together, "Whirl, that's _great._ " 

"I do alright." 

Whirl poured the cup over his plant and checked the soil again, seeming satisfied. 

"Whirl… If I'd known you were in such a rough place when we left, I wouldn't have." 

Whirl flinched, but didn't turn around. "Ain't your fault. I didn't tell you." 

"No, Whirl, you shouldn't have had to," Tailgate crossed the room to stand next to him, "I should have been paying more attention. You were my friend, and I didn't even realize you were struggling. I didn't _ask_ and I should have." 

Whirl shrugged, weakly. "We were never that close." 

"You think that?" Tailgate's shoulders sunk. "Whirl, when we left you had been my friend for basically my entire life. You might not have shown me the side of you that you showed Cyclonus, but I liked you. I invited you everywhere."

"Not everywhere." 

Tailgate was quiet, turned toward the window. 

"Not everywhere," he repeated. He stared at his hands. "Brainstorm is right. We weren't trying to hurt you but we did. I don't want to make things any worse and if you don't want to hear from me or Cyclonus again, you won't. I promise. But I want you to at least know that- that if I had known back then- if I had known that you needed us we would never have left you." 

Whirl shrugged.

"...Cyclonus isn't great at emotional stuff," Tailgate continued, "He's getting better, but, you know him. He basically had to start from scratch learning how to feel on the Lost Light, and he did a really bad job half the time, you know? He was worried about you, back then. He just didn't know how to show you. If he hadn't been too proud to tell _me_ what he was worried about, _I_ would have caught on. Not that that changes anything, but maybe things would have been different if that trip had gone on a few more years." 

Whirl shrugged.

"Do you want me to go?" Tailgate asked. Whirl picked his head up and stared at him.

"...No," he said, eventually, "I just don't know what to say." 

"You don't have to say anything," Tailgate assured him.

Whirl fidgeted, scissoring his claws together anxiously. "I didn't think you guys missed me at all. You didn't call." 

"Do you wanna know the dumbest thing?" 

Whirl blinked down at him. "What?"

"Cyclonus thought you didn't _want_ to hear from him."

Whirl squinted. "What? Why?"

"So, he said he spoke to you during the party and he asked if you had anywhere to be, and he says 'I was giving him the opportunity to invite himself' as if that's not the most emotionally constipated thing you've ever heard, and then he says you totally brushed him off and said something about mercenary work and shoved him away-"

"To _dance_ -"

"And he _thought_ you were trying to tell him that you didn't want anything to do with him," Tailgate rolled his optics, "That you were saying, like, oh, Cyclonus, you've totally misinterpreted our relationship, I don't actually want to be around you, I just feel like I have to be, or something."

Whirl shook his head and waved his claws, baffled, "Are you _serious?_ That's so stupid! I even called while I was in jail and all he did was ramble on about what y'all were doing!"

"Yeah, again, he thought if he told you what we were doing you might to ask to come," Tailgate ran a hand over his head, "He's kind of an idiot like that sometimes. Love him to death, but he has no idea how to talk to people for the life of him. He's _never_ known how to talk to _you_ especially." 

Whirl turned away, mulling this new information over, before he started laughing, suddenly, and Tailgate straightened up, startled.

"That's ridiculous," Whirl laughed, "That's so fucking stupid." 

"He had to think I was going to die three separate times before he would admit he loved me," Tailgate said, visor brightening, "Love him to death, but he has no idea how to talk to people." 

"He really did let you pull his arm off and wasn't going to tell you about it," Whirl chuckled, rubbing the back of his head.

"I'm glad you met Brainstorm," Tailgate told him, "He seems like better at knowing what you need."

"He micromanages," Whirl shrugged, "He's a good amica."

"Like I said, Whirl, if you want us to leave you alone- we will. I don't think we can make it up to you for leaving in the first place, but-" Tailgate set a hand on Whirl's arm, gently, "You're one of my first and most important friends. I'd like to be there for you. I'd like to be a part of your life again, if you want me to be." 

Whirl fidgeted, staring at his claws, uncertainly. "Things ain't just gonna be like they used to be."

"Yeah, I wouldn't expect them to be. It seems like things are super different for you now already, but in like- a good way. I'm not saying you should do something crazy like move in with us, Whirl."

Whirl snorted, "I already have enough married losers trying to get me to move in with them. I don't need any more." 

"They're sweet, by the way," Tailgate's visor brightened in a smile, "Did Brainstorm tell you he punched Cyclonus?"

"He _what?_ " Whirl jumped.

"Yeah! Like, pow!" Tailgate punched into his hand, "I think he broke his _hand_."

"When did _this_ happen?!"

"At the funeral."

"At the _funeral?!_ " 

"I had no idea what the hell was going on," Tailgate chuckled, "He's yelling about you and I'm just like- are you two even friends? What's going on!" 

"Oh, god, _Stormy_ ," Whirl groaned. 

"I'm glad you found such good friends," Tailgate said, softly, "I wish we'd been some of them." 

Whirl fidgeted, looked down at him and then back at his plant, tilting his head, lost in thought before he replied. "I would like to be friends again, I think." 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." 


	17. She Once Was a True Love of Mine

Whirl pushed open the front doors of the library, ignoring the 'closed' sign and looked around, drinking in the scenery. It was a big place, open and fancy, with really ornate architecture that was barely visible where the functionist retrofitting was being peeled away. 

"Sorry, sorry, we're not open!" called a familiar voice, lost somewhere in the rows of books and datapads, "We're mid restoration, I hope that you will come back- ah." Cyclonus emerged from around an aisle and froze, looking at him. Whirl waved. 

"What's up?" Whirl said, "This place is fancy." 

"Yes, well," said Cyclonus, crossing the room to meet him, "It was much nicer before the Functionists had the place redesigned. It will be a lot of work to get it back to its prime."

"Worth it though, eh?" Whirl asked, bouncing lightly on his pedes. Cyclonus smiled, softly.

"Worth it."

"So you bought a _library_ ," Whirl continued, walking past him as he continued to inspect the half revealed ceiling, "How you think that's gonna make you money, huh?" 

"Government stipend, public works," Cyclonus explained, falling in beside him, "They're paying for restoration work, job creation, such things as that. It's a tight budget, but it challenges me to stay hands on." 

"Neat," Whirl nodded, "Hands on is good."

Cyclonus bristled, "Ah, I didn't mean-"

"It's a figure of speech, hornhead, chill."

Cyclonus fidgeted. "Apologies, then," he said after a moment, "I am still uncertain what crosses a line. I don't wish to offend." 

Whirl fluttered his winglets absently. "I'm better than I used to be. You don't gotta worry so much."

"...You are worth worrying over," Cyclonus said, softly, as if he wasn't sure he should say it at all. 

"...Oh, yeah?" Whirl responded, awkwardly. 

"You are my friend," said Cyclonus, looking away, "You have always been. Even if I was not to you." 

Whirl softened, and then rallied, bumping Cyclonus with his shoulder. "Come on, I'll let you buy me lunch to make up for it, eh?" 

Cyclonus turned back to him, blinked, and then smiled, the expression stretching across his skull-styled faceplate.

* * *

"I'm almost definitely sure you're taller," Whirl said, squinting, "I spent three days on your holoform, I know how tall you're s'posed to be."

"Yeah, well, I am _not_ fiddling with mass shifting again," Rewind rolled his optical display, "I'm just going to have to be imperceptibly taller now." 

"It’s not imperceptible, I'm percepting it."

"Hush, you," Brainstorm shushed him, "He can be as tall as he wants."

"I'm barely taller!" Rewind groaned.

"I'm just glad you're not eight inches tall anymore, dear," Chromedome sighed.

* * *

"Whirl!" 

Whirl looked up from what he was doing, reorganizing a cabinet of medicine in exam room 3 as his comm rang.

"Yeah?" he prompted.

"You have a visitor," their secretary informed him, "Up front." 

"Not a patient?" he asked, setting the drawer back on the counter to finish later.

"Nope!" Airshock giggled and Whirl narrowed his optic suspiciously, even if they couldn't see it.

"Be up front in a klik." 

Whirl locked the exam room behind him, since he'd left a bunch of stuff on the counter, and passed Drift in the hall with a wave. He peeked around the corner into the waiting room.

"Whirl!" said Cyclonus, brightening, "There you are."

"Oh!" Whirl blinked, surprised, "Hey, Cyc. What's up?"

"You said you were too busy today to get away from work," he said, holding up a little bag, "I brought you and Drift lunch." 

Whirl's winglets fluttered without his permission. "Thank you!" 

Airshock leaned forward on their hands against the front desk, "Awww."

"Hush, you," Whirl snapped. He turned back to Cyc, "I can spare a few minutes. Did you bring one for yourself?" 

Cyclonus smiled at him. "I did."

* * *

  
  


Brainstorm dug around in Whirl's cabinet for a cup, leaning into his audial. "Right, there's the one in the window, the pink one, right? One cup."

"One cup," Whirl repeated, "No more! It drowns easy. Chromedome always overwaters it."

"Right," said Brainstorm, grabbing the plant watering cup and turning on the sink, "There's that little tree in your workshop, and that's two cups, right?"

"Yeah. Oh, also, I've got a succulent in there, too." 

"When did you get a succulent?" Brainstorm asked, taking the first cup to the pink leafy thing in the windowsill.

"Tailgate gave it to me."

Brainstorm paused, frowning, "Oh, yeah?"

"Aw, I know you're still worried. It's just a plant, Stormy."

"Hmmph," Brainstorm huffed, watering the plant, “I didn’t say _anything_.”

“Mind reader.”

“Mm.”

“Don’t worry, Storm, I’m not a lovestruck newspark,” Whirl laughed, “I’m being careful.”

“You have never been careful before in your life,” Brainstorm scoffed, refilling the cup, “But I can play nice.”

“Thanks. Thanks for watering my plants, also.”

“Like you said, Chromedome always overwaters them. I’ll see you in a week.”

“See you in a week!”

* * *

"Whirl, grab the rust sticks from the cabinet, too!" Rewind called over his shoulder, fiddling with the projector. 

"Can I yoink these cesium chips?" Whirl yelled back from the kitchen. 

"Those are Domey's!" 

"You can have them," Chromedome said.

"Sick," Whirl said, loading up on snacks and carrying them back into the living room to divvy out. He passed a baggie of those nori-styled energon sheets Drift liked to him and the rust sticks to Brainstorm, and then plopped down in between Cyclonus and Nautica, popping a cesium chip in his intake as he did. 

"Tell me we aren't watching yet another obscure French arthouse film," Tailgate sighed.

"Nah, I decided to have mercy on you for once," Rewind flashed him a thumbs up, "Stormy got to pick the movie this time." 

"It's a cartoon," said Chromedome, dryly.

"I love cartoons!" said Tailgate.

"It's called _anime_!" Brainstorm complained. 

* * *

Brainstorm bounced on his pedes in anticipation, and cast his optics back towards the beach. Chromedome didn't look nearly as invested as Tailgate and Rewind, who were absolutely giddy with the kind of excitement they'd always had, and when Rewind sliced a hand through the air and yelled " _Go!_ " Brainstorm transformed and shot off at top speed. 

He wasn't as fast as Cyclonus, not naturally, but he had a home turf advantage. This was _his_ neighborhood, and he knew these turns like Cyclonus didn't. Whirl was by far the slowest natively, but he had a much faster takeoff speed and he was _way_ better at turns than either of them. Still, they left him in the dust, and it was really just a race between him and Cyclonus. Brainstorm pushed his engines and pulled ahead, but Cyclonus sped up effortlessly, and Brainstorm suspected he was holding back. He took first on the lap and transformed, landing on the shore in his root mode, skidding through the sand.

"Alright, Cyclonus!" Tailgate clapped enthusiastically, and the other jet took a little bow. Brainstorm landed second, crossing his arms with a huff. 

"You did great, Stormy!" Rewind called, hands cupped around his faceplate, and Brainstorm flapped his wings, pleased by the compliment, even if he'd come second in a race of basically two.

Whirl landed third and groaned. "I don't know why I bother," he sighed, "Someone go make flier friends I can outspeed." 

"Aw, Whirl, you're faster than me!" Tailgate said, trotting up, visor bright.

" _You_ can't fly, obviously I'm faster than you, pipsqueak."

"Not natively," Brainstorm mused, stretching, "I bet I could make him a jetpack, though."

Tailgate gasped, visor lighting up like the sun, "You think so?"

"Oh, no," said Whirl.

* * *

Whirl woke up to a knocking at his door and groaned, rubbing at his optic in irritation. He’d already called Drift to let him know he was sick and wouldn’t be in today, he had been prepared to spend the rest of the day sleeping uninterrupted. 

He stumbled to the door and opened it, hoping his optic could convey his annoyance. Tailgate waved up at him.

“Drift said you were sick today,” he said, “I brought you some soup.”

“I don’t need any soup,” Whirl groused, “I’m just gonna purge it.”

“Then maybe you could use someone to empty out your puke bucket every few hours?” Tailgate tried again. Whirl squinted at him. 

“I can clean my own puke bucket.”

“It is my fervent belief that no one should ever be required to clean their own puke bucket,” Tailgate crossed his arms, “Either let me do it or let me call Brainstorm to come do it, but I don’t want to hear a word about you cleaning your own puke bucket.”

Whirl considered him for a moment, before his tanks roiled and he thought he might puke again on the spot. “Fine, come on in.”

“Yes!” Tailgate cheered, skittering inside. Whirl stumbled back to his berth and collapsed in a heap.

“Do you want anything to eat!” Tailgate called from his kitchen. Whirl heard the sink running and realized Tailgate was watering his plants.

“I’ll take that fuckin soup after all,” he sighed.

* * *

Whirl kicked his pedes beneath the edge of the helipad, high-grade clutched in his claws, watching the fireworks overhead pleasantly, blotting out the twinkling stars with bursts of colour. 

“They really do this every year?” Tailgate asked, sitting beside him.

“Every year,” Whirl nodded.

“It’s pretty,” said Tailgate, “I wish I’d been here to see more of them.”

“Aw, they ain’t gonna stop it anytime soon,” Whirl sniffed, “They been doin' it for fifty years, they’re not gonna stop now. Down with Functionism, and all that.” He raised his cube and Cyclonus and Tailgate dinked theirs against his.

“It’s certainly something worth celebrating,” Cyclonus agreed.

“I’ll say,” said Whirl, as a particularly large firework burst, sending blue sparks into the sky, “Stormy and his boys are gettin’ all romantical about it.”

“I mean, watching fireworks is pretty romantic!” Tailgate insisted, “It’s pretty, it’s outside, it’s under the stars! It’s romantic. Al. Romantical.”

Whirl snickered. 

“I have to agree,” Cyclonus added, “It’s romantic.”

“Ah, come on, I get the picture,” Whirl chuckled, clapping Cyclonus on the back as he pushed himself to his feet, “I’ll leave you two be.”

Cyclonus grabbed his hand before he could leave and tugged it, gesturing he sit back down. Whirl cocked his head to the side.

“I didn’t say you should go,” Cyclonus said, when Whirl didn’t sit back down immediately, “Your presence would be missed.”

“...Alright,” Whirl said, sitting back down. Tailgate leaned against his side, holding his cube in both hands, looking up at the sky. Whirl fidgeted, suddenly unsure what he should say or do. 

“Is that alright?” Cyclonus inquired, after a moment of silence from Whirl.

“It’s alright,” Whirl answered, watching as red-pink bloomed across the sky.

“We won’t leave you again, Whirl,” said Tailgate, uncharacteristically somber, setting one hand on Whirl’s arm, looking up at him in earnest.

Whirl fidgeted, claws on his cube, then shrugged.

“We won’t,” Cyclonus affirmed. 

“...Promise?” Whirl asked, finally. 

“I swear,” said Cyclonus. 

Whirl watched blue-purple blossom and burst against the starscape, shimmering sparks down over Iacon. “Alright.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [You Know You Survive This, Right?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25102564) by [kireiflora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kireiflora/pseuds/kireiflora)
  * [You know he dies at the end, right?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25084603) by [Polyhexian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyhexian/pseuds/Polyhexian)
  * [Cyclonus and Tailgate walk into a CV-11](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25351564) by [kireiflora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kireiflora/pseuds/kireiflora)
  * [Loveless Cybertron](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27755179) by [Polyhexian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyhexian/pseuds/Polyhexian)




End file.
